The Quirkiest of Foundations
by frustratedstudent
Summary: They are the most rash doctors, lawyers, artists, teachers, or simply just dreamers that the country has ever known...and it's up to them to make sense of a fragile new beginning. The weeks and months following the events of "Don't Mess With the Surgeon". Story 13: In which a case is won, a trial must begin, and separation anxiety kicks in.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Officially putting all the Surgeon verse prompts in one place. _

_This story prompt just wouldn't leave me. A far more serious story in the Surgeon verse. Warnings for child abuse and neglect, ongoing and in the distant past. _

**Crushed Dandelions**

_I_

Feuilly is the first one in their little group to meet Elodie, one blistering hot day just two weeks before the monsoon while he's teaching a village by a riverside how to make rafts out of old soda bottles. "She's a little rocket scientist, and I'm actually being literal here," he tells his friends later during their weekly ramen night. "She got one of those old pop bottles, filled it with water, and figured out a way to send it across the room. Made a mess of course and nearly ruined a bicycle pump, but you have to admire the quick-thinking there for an eight year old."

"Are you sure she's eight, or does she just _look_ eight?" Musichetta asks. In a city wherein people have had to go without for so long, many children still look too stunted for their ages. It's true even for some of the older generation; there is a grim reason that Gavroche, who is past twenty-five now, makes guessing his age something of a game.

"She really is eight years old; I asked her mother and her playmates. She eats well, if that's what you're worried about," Feuilly replies. He fishes in his pocket for his phone to pass around the group. "It's a bit blurred since everyone was running about."

Eponine is the last to take a look at the photo. She cannot help but smile on seeing the image of a little girl with dark brown braids, and her tanned face and arms all streaked with dirt. Her grin is impishness in itself, reaching her eyes and chasing away any shadows from her cheekbones. She is a distinct spot in the whirl of motion that Feuilly has captured, as if she is meant to stand out. This is a child who can want for nothing.

She tries to keep this picture in mind in the weeks to come, when smiles become rare and hope suddenly becomes so hard for a young life to hold.

_II_

It turns out that Elodie's father is a lawyer, to be more to the point a professor of international law. "It's an up and coming field, what with this world getting so small," this bombastic man says one day to the younger attorneys of the city hall. "You boys are in the wrong field."

Enjolras only raises an eyebrow to this comment; he couldn't be happier with what he's doing after all. As the other lawyers hem and haw over their colleague's jibe, he notices a small shape crouched at the door of the conference room they are in. It takes a moment for him to match this face to a picture he once saw; he only realizes much later that it is because of how different her eyes look when she is not laughing. "Elodie?"

The little girl nods. "Is Papa done with his meeting yet?" she asks in a voice that is little more than a whisper, a sound all too easily lost on the wind. It is a hot day but she is wearing a thick sweater and hugging herself.

'_If you can call it a meeting,' _Enjolras thinks, casting a baleful glance at the raucous group. He clears his throat, catching the attention of the man in the middle of it all. "Sir, I believe that Elodie is looking for you," he says calmly.

The older lawyer turns towards the door, and looks at Elodie for a moment. The girl doesn't rush towards her parent but stiffens for a moment before bowing her head and scampering down the hall. It is not the first time that Enjolras has ever seen a colleague shooing away a child but something about this silent exchange perturbs him deeply.

He mentions this to Eponine that same evening when he gives her a lift home from work. "He's a strict man but what I saw when he looked at her was another thing altogether," he says by way of finishing his story as they are waiting at a red light.

She bites her lip for a long moment. "How was she?"

"The same as in Feuilly's picture of her, but quieter. She wasn't ill or bruised all over," he replies.

Eponine is silent for a little longer. "If you see her again, maybe you could ask a little about how she is, what she is up to at school, what games she likes-"

"Eponine, I don't know how to talk to children."

"You'll never know till you try."

He sighs, knowing that she has a point. Nevertheless he knows that unlike her he still has a long way to go when it comes to learning how to elicit knowledge of people's troubles. One reason that Eponine is so good at this is because she herself is a survivor. He clasps her hand for a moment before catching her dark gaze. "I'm sorry if this...comes off in the wrong way, but when you were a kid, were you ever afraid in that way?"

"For a little while. What child wouldn't be?" she says. She rubs a long mark on her forearm; it is almost faded now but the same cannot be said for the memory behind it. "I could not understand for a long time why being with my family, why being _home_ meant being hurt all the time."

Enjolras nods as he takes this all in, but before he can ask about what changed for Eponine, the stoplight suddenly turns green.

_III_

The first time Eponine really gets to talk to Elodie is at a neighbourhood fair, part of the yearly traditions of the older districts of the metropolis. Eponine has been _convinced _to help her friends man a photo booth despite all her misgivings about all the glittery and feathered costumes. It is difficult after all to argue with Grantaire's sense of whimsy when combined with Cosette's reasoning that this fairground venture is for a good cause.

Amid the throng of children crowding around for their turns to wear the outfits for pirates, princesses, and even swamp creatures, Eponine spots Elodie trying to wipe her face. "Come here for a little bit," she cajoles. She pauses on seeing how raw and red Elodie's cheeks are. "You shouldn't wipe so hard," she chides more gently.

"Mama will get mad that I'm dirty," Elodie says, holding out her hands that still have chocolate under her fingernails.

"I s'pose we can do something about that," Eponine offers, searching her pockets for a softer towel handkerchief, a present from her sister. She sees the child flinch a little as she dabs the chocolate and mud off her skin. "Your name is Elodie, right?"

The girl nods. "You're Mister Feuilly's friend, and Mister Enjolras' girlfriend. They talk about you a lot," she announces.

Eponine blushes deeply, making Elodie and some other children laugh. She can't imagine referring to herself and Enjolras as a girlfriend-boyfriend pair, owing mostly to the very odd circumstances of their first meeting. She's not sure if she can ever find the right words to explain their own way of being together, so she gives up on explaining this to Elodie. "Where are your parents?"

Elodie suddenly seems to take an interest in the ground. "I don't know."

"Hmm, maybe you should wait here instead of wandering about," Eponine suggests. It won't be long till some of the boys can help her track this child's parents. "Why don't you try one of those costumes there? I'll take your picture."

"Any costume?"

"Yes, any!"

"Even the pretty ones?"

"Especially the pretty ones."

It takes a while till Elodie settles on a pink lace dress. It is something that Eponine never liked (and privately resolves never to inflict on children of her own if fate should grant such a thing to her), but it is admittedly straight out of the princess stories in old books. As Eponine is helping Elodie pull the dress over her grubby street clothes, she notices a single round mark at the back of the girl's neck. It is far too perfect to be a birthmark, and a little too red to be a scar. "Did you hurt yourself here?" she asks cautiously, touching Elodie's neck lightly.

Elodie freezes. "No."

"Oh? You have a mark here," Eponine says. "A little one, bigger than my fingernail."

Elodie nods solemnly. "I was a bad girl. That's why I got it."

Eponine's jaw drops. "How?"

"It got put there," Elodie says, squirming a little as she speaks. "Can you take my picture now?"

Everything in Eponine's mind is screaming at her to inquire more, to dig into the story behind this scar, but it's far too noisy and chaotic for her to get another question in edgewise. She bites her lip as she gets out her Polaroid camera and snaps a picture of Elodie putting a wreath of yellow flowers in her hair. The image could very well be from her memories of lying under the summer sun and getting covered in dandelion fluff.

She shakes her head and forces herself to look at Elodie properly when she has changed back into her street clothes. The child is a little thin, but perhaps not overly so for her age. She is clean and well-clothed, and there is nothing about her gait or her expressions to suggest any impairment. Yet the young doctor cannot stop searching Elodie's eyes for that skittishness she knows all too well. '_Like Azelma all over again,' _she catches herself thinking. Yet it's hardly anything to go by and there is no use in pursuing her suspicions in the absence of outright proof.

Elodie suddenly tugs on Eponine's hand. "There's my Mama. I have to go."

"Alright. It was nice to see you, Elodie," Eponine says as she hands the picture to her. She silently watches the little girl run up to a well-dressed woman, excitedly waving her Polaroid in the air. Elodie's mother hardly smiles and her arms are stiff when she picks up the child. In a way she reminds Eponine of a spun sugar sculpture: beautiful to look at but with hardly the strength to stand. Eponine bites her lip so hard that she tastes blood, feeling defenceless for the first time in years against something that is at least for her, far more than memory.

_IV_

The next time Eponine meets Elodie, the child is in no condition to talk but she is far from quiet as she is carried from an ambulance and into the emergency room of the Saint-Michel Hospital. Her screams pierce through Eponine's dreams for nights to come, which is saying a lot for someone who has done her own share of crying out into an unforgiving night.

At the door of the emergency room, Eponine and Combeferre exchange looks. "Your case or mine?" she asks him.

"Yours. You're better with kids like her," Combeferre replies quickly.

Eponine bites her lip, knowing exactly what Combeferre means. Nevertheless it takes all her courage to go up to the curtained off trauma cubicle where Elodie is flailing and kicking at the nurse trying to take her vital signs. "Elodie! It's me, it's Eponine!" Eponine calls as she hurries over to the child. "I'm here to help you," she adds more soothingly.

Elodie gasps for breath. "Hurts a lot."

Eponine nods grimly, knowing that there is no reason that Elodie can feel otherwise, not with her limbs bent at all the wrong angles. Watching her try to breathe is already painful enough and Eponine has to fight back tears as she quietly surveys the girl's injuries. "Where was she found?" she asks the paramedic who brought her in.

"Under a car," the paramedic replies. "A parked car, in the family garage."

Eponine takes a deep breath before stroking Elodie's hair in an effort to calm her just to make the task of intubating her a little easier."Hang in there, baby. It's going to hurt but you're strong enough. You'll make it," she whispers almost pleadingly. It takes a while before the little girl is stabilized enough and can be sent upstairs for emergency surgery. As always, Eponine rushes ahead of the gurney just to be able to scrub in as quickly as possible.

This time she pauses in the operating theater's changing room to get her phone, where she hits '3' on the speed dial. Thankfully the call is picked up after only one ring. "Auguste, have you got a moment?" she manages to choke out.

"Yeah. Is everything okay, Eponine? What happened?" Enjolras asks anxiously.

Eponine shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. "You might have been right about Elodie."

_V_

That same night Enjolras and Courfeyrac visit the Saint-Michel Hospital. They have with them a tall thermos of coffee and a large carton of stir-fried noodles, which they bring straight to the surgery department's call room. "We come bearing gifts!" Courfeyrac announces as soon as Combeferre lets them in.

"Acceptable," Combeferre says with a grin even as he begins to send text messages to Joly, Musichetta, and Marius to come over and partake of this unexpected feast. "Eponine is working at the pedia ICU. One floor up," he informs Enjolras.

Enjolras grits his teeth on hearing this, though he figures he shouldn't have expected anything different given Elodie's injuries and Eponine's stubbornness about bedside monitoring. He brings some of the coffee and the noodles upstairs to the ICU complex. The nurse's station, where the doctors hang out to write their orders down, is at the far end of a long hallway lined with tiny rooms interspersed with cabinets for special equipment. Enjolras walks quickly so as to be less obtrusive but he still catches sight of where Elodie is spending the night. The little girl is alone in a small cubicle, hooked up to huge monitors that dwarf her tiny body. Most of her is swathed in thick bandages, and what little that Enjolras can see of her face is so puffy and discoloured such that she is almost unrecognizable.

At the nurse's station, Eponine is furtively writing in a chart, gripping her pen so hard that her knuckles have gone white. Her face is drawn and tired, but her eyes are clear and calm. She looks up from her work and manages a wan smile. "Are you here for the medico-legal report?"

"Among other things," Enjolras replies as he sets down the food and reaches over to squeeze her shoulder. He can still smell the harsh antiseptic on her hands; it clearly hasn't been long since she left the operating room. Then he carefully reads through the form that Eponine hands to him, and the words _linear frontal skull fracture, spiral fractures on upper limbs, multiple broken ribs, third degree burns of varying ages from cigarettes _leap out among the more familiar legal terminology. "Will she live?"

Eponine bites her lip. "It's guarded-meaning that it could go either way."

"You did your best."

"Not really. If I did, she...she wouldn't be in the ICU now. I met her too and I knew something was not exactly right."

He sighs as he recalls her telling him about how Elodie was at the fair. "You didn't have any solid proof," he reminds her. "It's not wrong to err on the side of prudence-"

She shakes her head. "In many of these cases there isn't solid proof till it's almost too late, and sometimes it really is too late." She pauses to take a few deep breaths as she fights to hold back tears. "I'm tired of just patching kids up when they _shouldn't_ be in the emergency room or the operating room to begin with, when they _should_ be safe at home with a family that actually cares for them. I'm tired of mopping up the mess when there is something more that can be done for them."

Enjolras nods quietly, understanding every bit of the frustration coursing through Eponine's entire being. He feels the same way too, just about other equally important issues. However his reasons do not have that same painful dimension as Eponine's do. No, he doesn't understand everything and he knows better than to throw around empty words of empathy.

Instead, he waits till she lets go of her pen and reaches for the coffee he has brought up in a cup. "Where are her parents?" he finally asks.

Eponine drains half the coffee cup before setting it down with a fierce glint in her eyes. "At home. They just came here to drop off some things she'd need and they said they'd go home for dinner before coming back here. I don't know if the staff will let them," she says. She taps a pile of papers. "These are going to the Child Protection Unit, within the hour."

"I see," Enjolras says, figuring this is a cue for him to leave her alone to her work for a little longer. Before he can get up and beat a retreat, he feels her hand close around his wrist. "Eponine?"

She looks him in the face and nods. "After I get those papers to the unit, I need you."

_VI_

The newspapers call it a mad, bad, case. Why would a well-educated and upstanding lawyer try to do away with his own child? What kind of outstanding mother doesn't want her own daughter? How dare do these young lawyers and this upstart surgeon accuse this pair of abuse?

And why is there so much furor about a girl who just may never wake up after forty days?

On the forty-first morning, Feuillly groans with disgust as he tosses a newspaper aside over breakfast with some of his friends. "Some people just don't get it, do they?" he fumes. "They'll do anything for a few column inches."

"Blog space. You have a dying medium right here," Bahorel says as he scrunches the newspaper into a ball. He laughs at the furious gazes that Jehan, Bossuet, and Marius give him. "Come on guys, I can't believe you don't go paperless."

"Sometimes nothing beats tangible print," Jehan pronounces.

Feuilly rolls his eyes as the table erupts into a discussion about the fate of the written word. After a while he notices Eponine getting up from the table to take a call. Her harried look drops into one of disbelief before she claps a hand over her mouth and quickly hangs up. "News?" he asks as soon as Eponine rushes back to the table.

"That was from one of Marius' interns," Eponine replies. "Elodie just might be waking up."

"As in opening her eyes waking up?" Bossuet asks.

"No, as in said a word and can move her legs waking up. It's not all about the eyes," Eponine explains quickly. She buries her face in her hands. "Finally. I cannot believe it."

Courfeyrac raises his coffee mug. "It seems as if we have more of a case to fight if she can make a comeback," he tells Enjolras.

"It may be a long while till she can string together a sentence, much more participate in a trial by giving a deposition," Enjolras reminds him. "You're right though in the sense that it changes the nature of the case altogether."

Most of the other people at the table wince, having heard enough discussions regarding the gravity of frustrated murder in comparison to a fully commissioned homicide. '_Elodie's parents will get what is coming to them,' _Feuilly thinks. He is not overly soft-hearted but he has always made it clear that he has the least sympathy for those who would hurt a child.

After breakfast he makes a detour to the small novelties shop a few blocks away from the hospital. There are all kinds of stuffed toys, plush items and cozy niceties for children here, but Feuilly doesn't want to buy anything that could crowd up Elodie's hospital bed. His eye is immediately drawn to a tiny bouquet of roses, fashioned out of blue, white, and red ribbons. "Perfect for Bastille Day," the store's proprietor quips as Feuilly scrounges up some change to pay for the trinket.

"Perfect for what it stands for," the artist says as he sets down the last coin. From here he walks more briskly to the hospital, where he almost immediately gains admittance to the paediatrics ICU.

He has lived enough of life to learn not to trust in miracles. Elodie is not sitting up, not feeding herself, or really doing much more than seemingly staring at the wall in front of her bed. Many of the bandages are still there, though by now her shaven head can be covered by a simple knit bonnet. Despite her state her eyes light up with recognition as Feuilly enters the room. Her lips move slowly as she mouths the word "hello", and then her friend's name.

Feuilly laughs as he shows her the roses and pins them to her bonnet. "Yes, it's me. Welcome back Elodie. We've all missed you."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! This is going to be a story of some length, covering roughly a period of a year post the events of "Don't Mess With the Surgeon"._

_ is being problematic, so posting here first. _

**Case Histories**

_I_

"That's it, I'm signing you out for the evening. No night duty for you later."

The voice cuts through Combeferre's train of thought as well as the paragraph of the clinical abstract he's making some final edits to. He sighs as he deletes a whole line of gibberish before looking up at the older surgeon leaning on the other side of the desk. "I'll finish this up first, Mabeuf. My patient needs this by tomorrow for his insurance."

Mabeuf makes a scoffing noise before wiping his own spectacles. "You said a similar thing yesterday, and stayed so late that you gave the custodian a fright. Now enough of that." His dry fingers hover over the red switch on the extension cord that Combeferre's computer is plugged into. "You'll be blind before you're thirty if you keep up like this."

"Give me five minutes," Combeferre insists as he gives the document a last glance. He can feel Mabeuf's eyes on him as he sets up the staff room's rickety but reliable printer, and then connects it to his computer. He watches the printer cautiously for a few moments to make sure that the paper does not jam and then breathes a sigh of relief when he at last sees his work on the table. "Who is going to be on night duty then later?" he asks Mabeuf.

"I've already asked Navet. He's already manning the emergency room," Mabeuf says confidently. He claps Combeferre's shoulder. "I heard that one of your classmates is throwing a party tonight. You guys ought to catch up."

'_Catch up and skip the post-party revelry,' _Combeferre decides silently. There is only so much he can take when it comes to sobering up his colleagues. After gathering up his things and thanking Mabeuf, he heads up to the intensive care unit, where he is sure to find at least one of his friends at work.

True to form, he finds Eponine and Joly already there and reviewing charts at the unit's nurses' station. "There is always a risk with ventilators, and doubly so for her since she was hooked up to one for weeks," Joly says to Eponine, who is looking very upset.

"I still know my microbiology, Joly. I was just hoping for the best," Eponine says tersely. She sighs when she sees Combeferre. "Elodie has pneumonia."

Combeferre grits his teeth at this bit of news. He knows all too well how difficult it is to battle an infection acquired in a hospital. "Need I ask the cause?"

"Pseudomonas, yes. It turned the entire petri dish green," Eponine says, pointing to a picture of the bacterial culture recovered from her patient's ICU cubicle. "It just had to be a resistant bug."

"The strain is resistant to the old stuff, but thankfully not to those new carbapenem antibiotics….yet," Joly points out a little more cheerily as he begins writing in Elodie's chart. "I'll get her started on another round of IV meds right away."

At that moment the ICU doors swing open, this time admitting Enjolras, who clearly has come straight from his office. "You're here early," Combeferre greets him.

"I'm actually on my way to another meeting. Something happened?" Enjolras asks as he places his briefcase on a nearby counter.

"A lot," Eponine says, reaching over to squeeze his wrist. "Elodie is quite sick, as in she came down with something sick."

One of Enjolras' eyebrows shoots up even as he rests his chin on her shoulder as he peers at the chart. "How could she get sick here?"

"It's what we call a nosocomial infection," Joly says before launching into an explanation of the situation. "For now all we can do is wait for the antibiotics to kick in," he finishes.

"I see," Enjolras mutters, looking far less puzzled than he did a few minutes ago. "Well I have good news, again about Elodie's situation." He steps away from Eponine in order to open up his briefcase, then he hands her a thick yellow folder with the initials E. C printed on it. "I got these files from the guidance counsellor at Elodie's school. She's been concerned about her situation for a while, especially after a parent-teacher conference last year."

Combeferre taps his fingers. "What happened then?"

"It's more of what didn't happen," Enjolras replies, indicating the papers he's brought.

Eponine bites her lip but manages a smile when she looks at Enjolras again. "How did you charm her into giving the files?"

"Her brother was on the payroll of a former colleague of mine in Congress," Enjolras explains. "He was the one who did the talking."

"Nice job. It should help you and Courfeyrac cement those charges," Joly says approvingly.

'_Charges that those parents' aren't willing to face though,' _Combeferre thinks before he excuses himself to allow his friends to finish their work while he visits Elodie. Unlike all the other occasions when he's dropped by, this time he has to don a hospital gown and a surgical mask over his clothes as part of an additional contact precaution given her condition. He finds her dozing lightly, one hand still clutching a book of fairy tales. The tome is open to a page depicting in exquisite detail a maiden traipsing through a thicket filled with vines and butterflies. Before Combeferre can make a discreet exit, Elodie stirs and opens her eyes, looking at him confusedly. "Hello Elodie. It's just me, Dr. Combeferre. How are you feeling?" he asks her in a stage whisper.

The child blinks a little less groggily before reaching for a keypad; she cannot speak with an oxygen mask on her face. Her fingers move deliberately and laboriously as she types out the word "Ouch."

"Where?" Combeferre asks, and he sighs when Elodie's fingers flutter as if to signify 'all over'. "Youve got a bit of a bad bug, kiddo, but Dr. Joly will give you something to fight it," he tells her.

Elodie nods trustingly before typing, "Mommy and Daddy?"

"Not here yet," Combeferre replies even as he begins to look around for any sign of a recent visit from this girl's parents. It takes him a while to locate on the bedside a small card with the words "Get well soon!" emblazoned on a festive backdrop, followed by hastily scrawled signatures. He sighs, recognizing the card as having been bought from the gift shop downstairs. As he looks around he realizes that nearly all the other niceties here are of his friends' doing: aside from the ribbon roses that Feuilly brought a few days ago, there are now pictures and posters and even a little red flag on the wall next to Elodie's bed. Cosette has painted Elodie's toenails with neon pink sunbursts and flowers, while Grantaire has drawn all over her plaster casts. '_If it weren't for the ICU rules, they'd fill this place with stuffed toys and all the movies she could ask for,' _he muses.

Elodie suddenly smiles behind her mask and it's enough for Combeferre to know that Eponine and Enjolras have just entered the cubicle. He has to keep a straight face when he sees his friends, for while he is all too used to the sight of Eponine in a hospital gown and a mask, he cannot say the same for seeing Enjolras in similar attire. In fact his best friend looks downright ridiculous. "You wouldn't make a good doctor on TV," he remarks.

"Hence my chosen line of work," Enjolras quips back before waving awkwardly to Elodie. "How are you doing today?"

Elodie beckons for him and Eponine to come closer to read what she's typing out. Eponine laughs and shakes her head. "I'm sorry baby, but you can't have chocolate for a while. Maybe you can have chocolate ice cream once we can get those tubes off," she says as she adjusts Elodie's socks.

Elodie frowns and taps out. "Strawberry better."

"You've got good taste," Enjolras says approvingly. He crouches to look her in the face. "I talked to your teacher, Sister Simplice. She misses you."

At the mention of school, Elodie's eyes seem to mist over. "I miss her too," she types back.

Combeferre swallows hard as he looks away from the screen and meets his friends' eyes. Over the past few days, Elodie has never mentioned missing home.

_II_

Musichetta has never been fond of class reunions, both official and unofficial, but the need to keep up a network of colleagues often overrules her reluctance to socialize in such gatherings. On this evening the deciding factor happens to be her friends; someone has to make sure that Combeferre, Joly, and Eponine do not spend the night with their backs to the wall. "You guys owe me pizza and an indie film marathon," she jokes with them as they are in an elevator bound for the top floor of a swanky mall complex. "I'm going to be in need of serious detox after this trip."

Joly laughs ruefully as he slips an arm around her shoulder. "What about Thursday night?"

Musichetta hums for a moment. "Make it Friday. We'll get to sleep in a little longer since the clinics open later on Saturdays." Of course this is only tentative; in her line of work she has to be ready to drop everything and run to a delivery room at a moment's notice.

In the meantime Eponine bites her lip as the elevator door opens to reveal a sleek metal and glass lobby leading to a brightly lit and noisy bistro. The woodwork gleams in that expensive way that makes them all hesitant to approach the place. "We're underdressed," Eponine whispers, indicating her green blouse and black slacks.

"It's only Barley's. It's a smart casual place," Combeferre reminds them. Yet now the relaxed dress code takes on an uppity air because of the bistro's patrons. It's not often that so many doctors, some of them coming from formidable backgrounds, gather here to celebrate a successful round of certifications and specialization exams. Tonight, Musichetta silently thanks whatever higher powers inspired her to wear a dress to work. At the very least no one can accuse her of having her standards slip entirely.

Any hope of remaining relatively inconspicuous in this fathering disappears the moment that Musichetta catches someone waving all the way from the bar. "Oh my gosh, I cannot believe it! Is it really you, Chetta?" this old friend squeals.

"There's only one of me Irma," Musichetta replies candidly. "You're looking good Irma."

"Not as good as you. What's your secret?" Irma Boissy croons as she joins them. "You're one lucky guy Joly. It's been a long time you two," she adds by way of greeting Musichetta's companions.

'_And still some things don't change,' _Musichetta notes silently as she studies her former classmate. She realizes after a moment that Irma's giddy manner and neon colored clothes are not youthfulness but only a fading shadow of it. The glamour vanishes when the light plays upon the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, bringing forward that inexorable age of thirty.

Irma seems heedless of this as she takes Musichetta's arm to lead her to a side table. "We _must_ catch up! When did you arrive in town?" she gushes after ordering a drink.

"I never left," Musichetta replies. "i work at Saint-Michel."

Irma's jaw drops. "You're kidding."

"Am not. Joly works there too, and so do Combeferre and Eponine,"" Musichetta says.

"No wonder that place is in the news! You guys really are the Toxic Quartet," Irma laughs.

Musichetta rolls her eyes at this old medical school moniker. In hindsight she is not at all sorry that she and her friends earned a reputation for having the most ER admissions while on duty, or for being assigned to the most draining and complex cases. '_How else could we learn to be ready for anything?' _she realizes. She orders a glass of iced tea before catching Irma in the middle of sending a text message. "So what are you doing nowadays?"

"Traveling while waiting for results on my interventional cardiology fellowship applications. I'm headed next to Istanbul," Irma replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. She glances from Musichetta to Joly, who is now chatting with a former teacher of theirs. "So when is the wedding?"

"No plans yet," Musichetta answers with a bright smile. The truth is that Joly's increasingly rigorous research on infectious diseases and her own unpredictable schedule do not make a fortuitous combination for family life. As it is, choosing a wedding date would be the least of their problems.

"You shouldn't forget about your ovaries," Irma chides. She sighs and shakes her head. "You're still lucky to have him. Most other guys our age would consider us Christmas cakes no matter how accomplished we are."

Musichetta scowls at this derogatory idea. "Why wait for those?'

"Honey, it's evolution. Why would a man go for someone less fertile when he has more viable options like a nubile twenty-something nurse?" Irma mutters. She pauses to take a sip of her margarita. "What are you specializing in?"

"Obstetrics."

"Ugh. No wonder you don't have time for a wedding. I don't know how you can put up with such a messy thing day in, day out."

"I can't imagine doing anything else," Musichetta declares proudly. To this day she cannot quite put into words what happened at her defining moment nearly six years ago, during her first rotation as an intern in obstetrics. How can she sum up all the anticipation and determination channelled in that instant of catching a child as he or she enters the outside world? It is an intoxication that is worth all the hours she spends on her feet.

Irma merely takes another sip of her drink as she regards Musichetta. "Don't we wish we could all say _that_ at this point in life?"

Musichetta nods sympathetically. "How is cardiology working out for you, really?"

Irma heaves a sigh. "It pays the bills, and I'm never out of patients. You know what they say about that specialty; you get one patient, you have them for life." She stirs her drink for a few more moments. "So what does Joly do at Saint-Michel?"

"He's with the hospital's infectious diseases team. It's a bit of lab work and a lot of surveillance," Musichetta explains.

"Resistant bugs and mutants all over?"

"Yeah. Just another day on the job for him."

Irma chuckles bemusedly. "At least he was never a germophobe. So how is it like having your boyfriend on the job?"

"Nothing unusual, to be honest," Musichetta says. She sighs when she sees Irma's disappointed face. It is not as if she and Joly have any steamy call room escapades or duty hour shenanigans to discuss, simply because they no longer have a need for those sorts of thrills. She looks around and sees Joly laughing a little uneasily with some of the boys, so she holds his gaze long enough to shoot him a smile. He laughs again, but this time it reaches his eyes, and that is just enough for her.

_III_

It is only nine o'clock by the time Joly wishes he could call it a night. He's not sure if the slight ache in his temples arises from his trying day at work or from the increasingly loud hubbub of gossip and tale-telling at the party. '_At least we can still hear each other over the music,' _he tells himself by way of consolation as he sets down a glass of red wine. Gone are the days when he and his friends spent nights under the sway of strobe nights and pulsing trance music.

Before he can get up and search for Musichetta and their friends, he feels a hand tap his shoulder. "Long time no see, Joly!" bellows a man with a receding hairline and the beginnings of a paunch.

"Same to you, Benoit," Joly replies, hoisting his mostly empty glass. "How's the wife and your kids?"

"Good, good," Benoit says, all the while signalling to the bartender to bring over another round of drinks. "So when are wedding bells ringing for you and Dr. Laurain there?"

"We're waiting for the ten year mark," Joly jokes. Sometimes he cannot believe that he and Musichetta have been a couple, albeit on an on-and-off basis, since they were nineteen years old. He considers it as one of life's daily miracles that she does not seem to have any plans of walking out on him even after all they've been through.

Benoit slaps Joly's back again. "Enjoy the bachelor life. I wouldn't rush it if I were you." He jerks his thumb towards where Combeferre and Eponine are listening to another friend's hoary anecdote. "Are those two ever going to shack up again?"

Joly shakes his head. "Haven't you forgotten how _that_ ended?" To this day he is convinced that dating each other was one of the less intelligent decisions that Combeferre and Eponine have ever done. '_They'll never be a romantic pair for as long as they have even the remotest chance of becoming rivals,' _he reflects ruefully, remembering too many nights bickering about their med school thesis, ward assignments, reports, and even guidelines on patient care. He's only thankful that his friends have learned to work together instead of tearing each other apart.

Benoit clucks his tongue before picking up the bottle of lager that a server has brought over. "He doesn't know what he's missing; she's still quite the firecracker. Unless it's true that she's screwing a politician?"

Joly grits his teeth at this crass turn of phrase. "She's _with_ my friend Enjolras."

"College friend of yours, am I right?" Benoit asks.

Joly nods. "Former roommate, leader of the political party….you name it."

Benoit raises an eyebrow sceptically. "I'm surprised he and Eponine didn't meet earlier then, given that you, Combeferre, Musichetta and so many of your other friends are mutual connections."

"Enjolras was already at law school all the way across the country by the time any of us met Eponine," Joly points out. It is just as well that things worked out that way, for he cannot imagine a worse combination than Eponine's despondent twenty-two year old self meeting with Enjolras' arrogance at that age. "Besides, law and medicine are realms apart," he adds.

"Before the case of the Chenier girl," Benoit scoffs. "Nasty business, going up against the famous Attorney Chenier himself."

"Someone has to do it."

"Glad it's not me. I heard she's going to pull through?"

'_If she can get through the pneumonia first,' _Joly almost says, but he bites his tongue. He doesn't need Benoit's pumping him for information on Elodie's condition. "She has a chance," he says at length.

Benoit whistles, perhaps understanding more in Joly's guarded words. "How far are they going to take this case then?"

"As far as necessary," Joly replies quickly. Yet even so he already knows that this will be a long fight, and a story that Benoit is best staying away from.

_IV_

"I hear you're interested in doing some child protection work, Dr. Thenardier."

Eponine looks up from picking at a bowl of spiced peanuts. "Hello Touissant," she greets. For a moment she wonders what Mr. Fauchelevent's secretary is doing in this gathering, till she recalls that the philanthropist has assisted various medical missions and projects over the past few years. "What do you mean by interested?" she asks after a moment.

"I heard you've been taking care of more than one case involving children in perilous home situations," Touissant clarifies.

"I only do referrals. A kid is brought to me, I pick up on the danger signs, and then I alert the unit," Eponine explains with a shrug. "All the doctors are required to do it."

"Most don't go as far as you do, and not just in the case of Elodie Chenier," Touissant points out, her stammer now greatly diminished. She reaches into her purse and brings out a thick brochure. "Mr. Fauchelevent hopes you'll be interested. It's a certificate course, and there are several schedules for you to pick from. You can always approach Mr. Fauchelevent for any help with funding."

"A course on handling children in crisis situations," Eponine reads aloud. The scenarios these words conjure are very compelling, and she cannot help but flip through this brochure despite that nagging feeling in the back of her mind, dissuading her from this new diversion. She pauses when she comes upon the requirements for applying for the course. "I don't have a degree in social work though."

"It's not an absolute prerequisite," Touissant says.

"And I have duty hours to keep up."

"As I said, you can pick your schedules."

"Are you sure that Mr. Fauchelevent wouldn't rather offer this to someone else?"

"There was only one brochure in his office, and he marked it out for you."

"Why?" Eponine blurts out. "I'm not exactly therapist or social worker material. Does he remember that I've got a ton of issues that I could possibly project on people?" It's part of why she prefers being a surgeon; there is no need to go into the labyrinths of people's minds and possibly get lost in that dangerous exchange between patient and practitioner.

"You care," Touissant says. She pauses as if to collect her words. "Even if Mr. Fauchelevent had someone else in mind, _I_ would encourage you to give it a try."

'_And not Cosette?' _Eponine wants to say, but she knows better than to argue with Touissant about this matter right now. Nevertheless she decides she'll have a good talk with her friend at the soonest possible time, maybe the next day if possible. "When does Mr. Fauchelevent want me to meet him about this?"

"Before the first day of the application period," Touissant says, indicating the dates on the brochure. "That's about two weeks. Try to think about it, won't you?"

"I will," Eponine promises, but even then she's not sure how much thought she can put into this possible venture, not with so many things on her mind. Aside from Elodie's case, she has other patients to care for, a conference she'll be presenting a paper in, and most importantly, a series of major exams for her own specialization. '_But it's a need too,' _something still nags at her throughout the rest of the party.

Thankfully by eleven o'clock she and her friends are able to take their leave of the party and head back to their respective homes. Eponine quietly lets herself into the tiny apartment she shares with Azelma and Gavroche, even if she is half-sure that at least one of her siblings is still awake. The place is admittedly too tiny for all three of them: aside from the main room that serves as living room, kitchen, library and work room, there are two tiny bedrooms and a single bathroom. Yet it's an island of sanity in this city, not just for her and her siblings, but apparently even for their friends if the weekly ramen gatherings here are any indicator. She rolls her eyes on finding on the rickety card table some of Courfeyrac's books parked near Feuilly's spare sketchpad, as well as Bahorel's boxing gloves. '_What is it that they say, me casa es tu casa?' _she wonders silently as she locks the apartment's front door before going to knock on what Gavroche calls his 'cave'. "Gav? You still up?"

In a moment Gavroche opens the bedroom door. "Yeah, but Zelma isn't. She's got an early day," he says with a yawn as he scratches his leg through his pajama pants. "Where have you been?"

"Reunion," Eponine says with some distaste. "Courf isn't sleeping in the other room, is he?"

Gavroche shakes his head. "Enjolras told him to actually do his overtime in the office for once."

"I wonder how he did that," Eponine laughs, indicating the books that their friend has left behind.

"Poor, poor Courf," Gavroche says in a mock theatrical voice. "By the way Mr. Fauchelevent called."

"Yeah. I met up with Touissant. Long story," Eponine says. She's not sure she wants to explain the situation when she hasn't made up her mind yet about it. '_Gav and Zelma could have sometimes used a doctor with that sort of training,' _the thought occurs to her, but she pinches herself to clear it away. If she's going to take this chance, she has to find something more than guilt to propel her. She mulls about this a little longer after bidding Gavroche good night and going into the room she shares with Azelma. She readies for bed quietly so as not to wake her sister, and then sends a 'good night' text to Enjolras. Inasmuch as she wants to hear his voice, now isn't the hour for a probably impolite phone call.

However not even a minute after she puts her phone on the bedside table, she hears it begin to ring. "Hey Auguste. Aren't you busy or asleep yet?" she asks.

"I was just calling it a night," Enjolras says, not sounding the least bit tired. "How was the party?"

"It was okay, for as long as people weren't talking about people," Eponine replies, burrowing under the blankets of her bed. "How's the overtime going?"

"I can't get Courfeyrac to stay still. Maybe I should have left him in your apartment," Enjolras confesses.

"If you did that, I'd have to go over to your place," Eponine says. She feels her face grow hot as her mind lingers on the idea of meeting up with him at this late hour, perhaps sitting on his sofa and talking over coffee, and then some. She can't deny that this is one of her favourite daydreams.

"You'd leave Gavroche alone with them?" Enjolras asks amusedly. "That's torture."

"For them, not him," Eponine quips. She sighs as she catches a glimpse of the brochure she's tossed on her bedside table. As it is, she hardly has time for things outside of work, how much more this? "So will you be coming by again tomorrow?"

"Yes, that's why I'm calling," Enjolras replies. "Have you got a lunch break tomorrow, Eponine?"

"Late lunch. I'm scrubbing in at ten, so the earliest I can safely promise you a meet-up is two."

"Wow. I don't know how you do it, Eponine."

"Same with you," Eponine whispers. How can someone live with so much drive every day? Sometimes she fears he'll inadvertently burn out or overstretch himself, and heaven help them all if that ever happens. "I'll let you know once things become definitive."

"Alright then." He pauses over the sound of rustling paper. "It's about a case I need some expert opinion on. I hope you don't mind?"

"Not at all." It's just medical advice, so this shouldn't be a problem. She tries to hold back a yawn as she lies down. "I'm really beat though, so inasmuch as your voice keeps me awake, I'm going to just have to settle for dreaming about it now."

"Of course," he laughs. "Good night Eponine."

"Good night Auguste." She's still smiling even when she hangs up, because somehow there's always something more in those simple words.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This took a while; real life has been crazy_

_Guest: Thanks much!_

**Not A Single Plan In Place**

_I_

Maurice Courfeyrac goes to the law office nowadays with a spring in his step, or at least with less trudging than he used to. '_Anything is better than just shoving paper around,' _he decides as he bookmarks yet another site about child development. While working in the field of human rights is challenging, not to say risky, he lives for the breadth of experience that these investigations entail. The learning and interactions make the piles of documents and transcripts on his desk worthwhile.

He looks up from his work and sees Enjolras in the next cubicle answering emails and reading through a case file while keeping up a very involved phone call. It quickly becomes clear to Courfeyrac just who his friend is speaking to since there is no one else he knows who can keep Enjolras so focused and yet so at ease in the same breath. He has to keep from smiling too widely as he brings out his phone to get a picture for future leverage purposes, especially when negotiating about flexible overtime.

Of course Enjolras is oblivious to this observation, even when he finishes replying to the last email and then gets up to begin pacing the cubicle. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind when I review the statements. It's a lot to cover-no, no, it's fine. I don't care if this means I have to throw out half of the so-called evidence, since it's better than presenting implausible statements in court," he says into the phone. He grins as he adjusts his grip on the gadget. "Seven in the evening it is then. O f course. You're amazing, Eponine. I'll see you later."

Courfeyrac whistles as soon as Enjolras ends the call. "Someone has a hot date tonight."

Enjolras rolls his eyes at this term. "It's our sanity break from the rest of you. We were supposed to have a late lunch before this happened," he says, gesturing to all of his paperwork.

"Late lunch to discuss a case again?"

"I needed her opinion on the Transnonain Four."

Courfeyrac blanches on hearing this case. He's far from a squeamish man; he has seen his share of harrowing testimonies and evidence exhibits, but there are few things that have been able to sicken him more than the story of five tenant farmers who suffered at the hands of a brutal overseer. "So you're questioning the witness statements?"

"At least those that deviate greatly from the usual clinical course of starvation," Enjolras replies. "There are other injuries that may not have been caused by what we all originally thought."

Courfeyrac hisses as he tries to block out what he recalls of the morgue photos and witness interviews. "You'll review the coroner's report again?"

Enjolras nods grimly before retrieving a paper from his desk and handing it to Courfeyrac. "Have you seen this yet?"

The younger attorney flinches at the sight of a table of medications and equipment, as well as their corresponding prices. "How can the Cheniers pay for all that? Insurance can only get them so far."

"Mrs. Chenier owns several lucrative businesses and has some good investments. That's on top of what Attorney Chenier makes with his law practice and consultancies," Enjolras explains.

Courfeyrac shakes his head at the irony before him, of parents who can buy the world for their child but do not have it in them to give the one thing that is needed most and costs nothing. "How much longer will Elodie be in the hospital?"

"Eponine, Joly, Pontmercy, and the rest of the team have not given a specific timeframe," Enjolras says. The look on his face is bittersweet, as if he is thinking back on some sure but distant hope. "Even if she gets to be discharged soon, she'll be in physiotherapy indefinitely."

"None of her near relatives want to take her, or have anything to do with this situation," Courfeyrac points out. "She's going to have to become a ward of the state."

"A situation we ought to avoid; she wouldn't last one week in those homes," Enjolras says as he gathers up some of his papers and puts them in his briefcase. "If you find anything on the forensics database, send it along to my email. I'll look at it later."

"Get to your date first!" Courfeyrac chides him but by this time Enjolras is halfway out the office door. Then again, he has to concede the fact that Enjolras and Eponine never seem to be able to have time for conventional dates. The breathless pace of their relationship suits them though. Courfeyrac cannot imagine himself or any of their other friends living this way, which makes him all the more glad for what he does have with another one of the Thenardier girls. '_I wonder if Azelma's classes are done for the day,' _he thinks as he starts looking for his phone to contact his favourite schoolteacher.

Before he can send out a message he hears footsteps and harried arguing in the hallway outside the office. For a moment he curses the fact that he has to deal with this impending confrontation just when his friends are away; Enjolras has his meeting, Bahorel and Feuilly are off doing some fieldwork in a riverside community, while Bossuet is in the infirmary bandaging a singed finger. '_So this is how it is to hold a fort,' _he thinks amusedly as he sits up straight in his chair and adjusts his tie.

He has never been intimidated by the Cheniers, and he is not about to begin now, especially when he sees the furious and desperate looks on their faces as well as on that of their lawyer Dupont, an old friend from law school. Atty. Chenier is all bombast as usual, while his wife looks like a porcelain doll suddenly animated. It's not a good picture but Courfeyrac still finds it in himself to greet cheerily, "What can I do for you today?"

Atty. Chenier huffs as he tosses a paper in Courfeyrac's general direction. "Explain this."

Courfeyrac sees immediately that this is the same list of medical expenses he saw earlier. "I don't see a problem. You requested for an itemized list every week, you consented to the procedures-"

"Not all of them! And this thing about long-term care, absolutely ridiculous!" Atty. Chenier fumes.

Courfeyrac pauses to read the list, all the while trying to remember what procedures these two did not give their express consent to. It takes a few moments before he can safely put aside the paper. "If I recall those procedures were emergency procedures that had to be instituted while you were at work, and she was away with her country club friends. It was that or your daughter would have died that very hour," he says seriously. "As for long term care, why is there a problem with that?"

"We cannot pay for it any longer," Mrs. Chenier speaks up. "We've already spent enough."

"What do you propose to do then? You know that you can't leave your daughter uncared for," Courfeyrac says. He doesn't need to remind them of the consequences if the Child Protection Unit decides to investigate them for child neglect and abandonment on top of the already pending charges of deliberate child abuse.

"We are proposing allocating a sizeable amount that will be allocated for Miss Elodie's health expenses. It's part of a legal settlement," the lawyer chimes in.

'_Bullshit,' _Courfeyrac thinks. He knows an easy way out when he sees it. "A settlement with who?"

"The unit of course and this law office," the lawyer says.

"I highly doubt that the Saint Michel Hospital will accept that. As for this place, it's a _public _office, and as a rule we don't take out of court settlements paid to the office itself," Courfeyrac reminds him. "If cost is such a problem, then work it out with the doctors at Saint-Michel. There are other facilities that may be able to provide for your daughter's health care and perhaps at lesser expense."

"Are you sure about not taking the settlement?" Atty. Chenier asks once again. "You hardly have the resources to take this case further, even to the courts."

"We do well enough and will continue to do so. Our expenses are not _your _concern," Courfeyrac replies in a level tone. It's no secret that he and Enjolras have taken on this case _pro bono_. He doesn't even want to know how much his physician friends have had to shell out from their own pockets at some critical junctures in Elodie's hospital stay.

"Courfeyrac, please," the lawyer beseeches them. "Do not be obstinate."

The adjective makes Courfeyrac chuckle for a moment. "Takes one to know one, Dupont," he tells his colleague. "As it is, you're obligated to still provide care for your daughter, whether you ask for her to be transferred elsewhere or not. Believe me, we will have ways of finding out whether you comply or not."

Atty. Chenier swears and pounds his fist on the desk. "Are you threatening me, Courfeyrac?"

"Oh no, only reminding you of our databases and surveillance especially since this case is now on public record," Courfeyrac replies.

"It would not have gone public if not for you and your friends," Mrs. Chenier spits at him.

'_There wouldn't be a case at all if you didn't maul your daughter and throw her under a vehicle,' _Courfeyrac wants to say, but he reminds himself to be diplomatic. "If you are indeed incapable of caring for her, we shall have to consider terminating your parental obligations and of course your rights. It's perfectly legitimate. We do this all the time," he says. "You might want to do this in light of your impending expenses in the courts."

"Are you equating us to the shelter scum and deadbeats you like associating with?" Atty. Chenier sneers.

This jibe, which Courfeyrac knows is directed to the fact that he is associated with the Thenardiers, Feuilly, and a few other hard-up friends, is enough to have him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to deck this man. "I'm not. You're on entirely different footing and will be treated as such," he says. He watches Dupont's eyes go wide while the Cheniers exchange aghast stares. "Is there anything you want to discuss? I need to have my lunch," he adds.

"We'll be back, mark my words. Tell Enjolras that he has to be here at our next meeting," Atty. Chenier says. "It's imperative."

"Then set an appointment outside. Thank you very much!" Courfeyrac says. It's all he can do not to heave a sigh of relief when the trio slams the door on their way out. After sending a text message to Enjolras explaining the situation and suggesting the termination of the Cheniers' parental rights, he then sends Azelma a simple text with a smiley face.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her reply, asking him how he is. He'll definitely be in some need of her care, or at least the sight of her face, by the time this work day is up.

_II_

"Dad, I'm driving Touissant to her physiotherapy appointment! Is there anything you and Mom need?"

Cosette checks her purse for her car keys even as she hears her father's footsteps in the foundation's office. She looks up at M. Fauchelevent just as he enters the front hall. "A run to the grocery, a bill, something, anything?" she offers with a smile.

M. Fauchelevent's bushy gray eyebrows quirk upwards for a moment. "I'll let you know if I remember anything. You might want to text your mother about groceries though."

"Okay then," Cosette says as she slips her keys in her dress pocket instead. "I'll see you later Dad."

"Don't stay out too late, Cosette. You know that Marius is more than welcome to have dinner here instead of in the staff room," M. Fauchelevent reminds her.

"Dad!"

"It's Fantine's idea, not mine."

Cosette rolls her eyes affectionately. She will always be her father's little princess, no matter how old she gets and no matter how wonderful other men in her life will treat her. Thankfully her mother is more willing to watch and let her grow up a little bit. "I'll ask him to call here first to confirm with you, like a proper gentleman," she promises. "And I'll be back by seven."

Thankfully this answer seems to appease her father, who smiles before retreating to his office. Cosette runs to meet Touissant at the door of her own office, should in case she need help getting into the van. She smiles when she sees the kindly woman hobbling faster towards the driveway; it's a good day for her, a spot of hope amid the usually stormy days of half-dragging her to the rehabilitation medicine department and checking on her medications. It's ironic that her most difficult patient should be the one who helps her most in caring for others.

It's a long drive to the Saint-Michel Hospital, and so Cosette has to put on some music to keep her awake, but she takes care to keep the volume low enough in order to let Touissant have a nap. The tune she picks is a mellow jazz instrumental, a piece she heard Grantaire, that man of many talents, cover during a weeknight gig at a cafe. She taps out the tune on top of the van's stick shift, loving the way the music makes her blood sing both in the present moment as well as in memory. '_Because Marius and I danced to this song,' _she thinks, sucking in a deep breath at the recollection of his fingers gingerly gripping her arms. She's not at all sorry that he's so awkward about so many things, not for as long as he is sure about her.

The parking lot is not particularly busy when she pulls in, but there are still enough people to gawk when she steps out of the van. Somehow the idea of a petite girl like her driving such a huge vehicle is still so strange to so many people, and it's an irony that Cosette finds some humor in. As she and Touissant are lining up at the reception desk, she hears her cellphone ringing. "Hello Ponine. What's new?" she greets her friend.

"Hey Cosette. Are you accompanying Touissant to the hospital today?" Eponine asks.

"Yeah. Her session is starting in a while; I just have to sign her in. You want to meet up?" Cosette replies, even as she marvels at her friend's knack for keeping a schedule straight.

"I'll meet you at the physical therapy room in ten minutes," Eponine says. "See you in a bit."

"Okay then," Cosette agrees before Eponine hangs up. Something in her friend's tone is questioning, even a little puzzled. '_What does Eponine have up her sleeve this time?' _she wonders as she and Touissant go up for their turn at the desk.

Five minutes after they arrive at the rehabilitation medicine department and Touissant starts her meeting with the therapist, Eponine arrives with a large cup of coffee in hand. Cosette steps out into the waiting room to meet her. "Had a rough surgery?" Cosette asks, still smelling the antiseptic on her friend's arms and clothes.

"No just a lengthy one," Eponine replies. "Have you met up with Pontmercy yet?"

"I'm going to surprise him. It's not a bad time, I hope?" Cosette confides.

"I don't think so," Eponine says. She brings a brochure out of her pocket and puts it down on a table. "Touissant handed this to me last night. She said it was from your father."

Cosette immediately recognizes the flier for the certificate course on handling youngsters in crisis. She's a little startled to see this in her friend's possession, but in a way she's not entirely surprised. Her father has his secretive ways of getting to people. "So are you interested in it?"

Eponine sips her coffee first. "I thought you would be."

"I've earned a lot of certifications already, in different areas," Cosette replies candidly. '_Which is probably why Papa didn't run this by me first,' _she catches herself thinking but she smiles to hide the slight sting. "It would be good for you," she remarks.

"Your dad knows lots of doctors and other qualified people who can take this course," Eponine says.

Cosette looks down, knowing the other question beyond her friend's words: '_It's because of where I came from, isn't it?' _She has to pick her next words very carefully. "You care about these things."

"I can't help it," Eponine says. "There are days when I wonder if it's my case file that they should be reviewing in the psychiatry department."

The words bring back another memory to mind, of seeing Eponine stagger in after an almost sleepless night only to fall asleep in such a way that her sleeves had rolled down her too thin arms, showing a whole new collection of bruises. '_Familiar seeks familiar,' _Cosette realizes; that had happened during their first year at university, when Eponine was still sometimes literally dancing with danger. "You're not your parents."

Eponine doesn't say anything for a time as she takes a longer sip of her coffee. "Did you know that they-at least my mother-tried contacting me recently?"

Cosette cringes. "What for?"

"Asking if she and my father could move in with us," Eponine says. "Like hell I'm letting them anywhere near Azelma and Gavroche. It's a good thing I didn't wait till college graduation to help them run away from home."

Cosette sighs at the memory of that frenetic night some time in their second year of college, when she'd woken up to find the two younger Thenardiers curled up on Eponine's bed while her friend desperately tried to explain matters to their resident adviser. "Did they try getting in touch with Zelma and Gav?"

Eponine shakes her head. "As far as I know, no. There's a restraining order in place, though I'm not exactly sure if _they_ remember it."

"You won't be alone facing them this time," Cosette reminds her. She squeezes Eponine's shoulder. "The past isn't going to change, but tomorrow is always different. Who knows what other good we all can do, right?"

"I've always liked your optimism," Eponine says even as something like a thoughtful smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Now especially."

"You know, if you want to talk about that course, you can drop by our place for dinner. Mom is cooking, so that's going to be good," Cosette offers.

"Maybe later in this week. Enjolras and I have plans for tonight," Eponine replies.

Cosette cannot help but smile for her friend. "Going out to dinner?"

"Yeah. There's this bistro that supposedly has good pasta _and_ coffee. That satisfies both ends of the equation," Eponine explains.

Cosette tries for a moment to guess what this place might be, but she decides to let the mystery be for now. She's sure to hear about it soon enough. "If you come across a place with good crepes, please tell me as soon as possible."

"Pontmercy should learn to make those for you," Eponine says. She laughs as she looks past Cosette. "Speaking of which..."

Cosette turns around in time to see Marius in the middle of a discussion with a physical therapist and a wheelchair bound patient. The sight of him is enough to make her spine tingle in the best way possible, especially when his face brightens with that abashed but openly adoring expression she loves best on him. It doesn't matter that everyone in the room can see the grin that is surely forming on her face.

Eponine rolls her eyes and pokes Cosette's elbow. "I'll let you know when I'll join you guys for dinner. I'll see you around, Cosette."

Cosette gives her friend a brief hug before retreating to one side of the room to wait for Marius to finish his work. It seems like an eternity till at last he is able to bid his patient goodbye and then meet her near the middle of the room. She greets him with a light kiss on his cheek. "Missed me?"

Marius goes very red and ducks his head. "Is it Touissant's appointment today?"

"Yes. You want to say hello?" Cosette asks.

"In a while," Marius replies. He brings out his phone and checks his calendar. "So are we still on for Saturday? I've got the tickets."

"It's a date," Cosette promises. "Tonight could be too, if you'll join us for dinner."

Marius swallows hard. "At your place?"

"Yes, unless you know somewhere else to get a free dinner," Cosette replies. She knows that being around her parents still terrifies him, especially given their bumbling start. Sometimes she wonders if they will ever get used to each other.

When she looks at Marius again, she finds him searching through his phone's directory. "Marius, what are you doing?"

His smile is both guilty and shy. "Calling your father to confirm that I'll be there. It's polite to RSVP."

It's enough for Cosette to reward him with a warm hug. For all of Marius' awkwardness, he does know best when it comes to surprises.

_III_

Avenue 54 in the heart of the metropolis is not an area Azelma Thenardier frequents. In fact she can only think of maybe five reasons for her to be in this part of town, and four of those reasons are somehow connected to Maurice Courfeyrac.

'_It shouldn't take him so long to get here from his office,' _she tells herself as she watches the huge hands on the market district's clock tower slowly approach six o'clock. She doesn't have her siblings' uncanny ability to work out distances, and so for her any attempt at estimating travel time is almost leaving everything up to chance. Nevertheless she trusts enough in Courfeyrac's good graces to believe that he won't leave her hanging, or will at least contact her if he is delayed for some good reason or another.

The clock is beginning to strike six when she catches sight of his sleek silver colored sedan pulling up to the curb. The vehicle seems almost uncharacteristic of a man with Courfeyrac's suaveness and elegance, but the main reason he drives this old thing is because he likes having enough room to give any one of his friends a lift. '_As well as other reasons,' _Azelma thinks with a wicked grin as she crosses her arms. "You're late, Maurice," she calls to him as he rolls down the passenger side window.

Courfeyrac gives her an apologetic look. "Did I keep you waiting long?"

To answer him she saunters up to the open window and plants a wet kiss on the side of his mouth, pulling away before he can kiss her back. "It's a quarrel," she says.

He gives her a petulant look before opening the car door on the passenger side. "What do you say we negotiate it?" he asks.

Azelma's eyes are glinting with pure mischief as she hops into the car and loses no time kicking off her shoes before climbing into Courfeyrac's lap. It's a tight squeeze given that they are in the driver's seat, but Azelma couldn't care less, not for as long as Courfeyrac's hands are on their proper place around her waist as he is kissing her.

He pulls away after what seems to be a delicious eternity just to allow her to catch a much needed breath. "Am I forgiven now?" he asks as he rubs a finger over her swollen lips.

She places a hand on her chest to feel her heart still pounding against her ribs. "Now you have to apologize for making me look like this. There's no way we can go shopping for ramen ingredients now," she teases him.

"Zelma, this is a night market," Courfeyrac reminds her. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively as he begins running his thumbs closer to her hips. "Who says we have to go shopping right away?"

Azelma's lips form a surprised 'o' as it dawns on her what he's got in mind. "We have to get out of this street. Someone might come by and see us-like one of my students."

Courfeyrac grimaces. "Well we don't want to be accused of corrupting innocent young minds."

"You're already guilty as charged when it comes to me," she whispers. Why she's allowing this trickster of a lawyer to have such a place in her mind and heart is still something of a mystery to her, but she's not about to complain. She laughs as she slides into her proper place in the passenger's seat and buckles up responsibly. "So where to?" she asks.

Courfeyrac pauses to think even as he grips the steering wheel. "I know this place. It's actually an inn, there's a good deli nearby, and it's a heck lot better than a seedy motel."

"You make it sound like we're going to stay out all night, Maurice. I still have work tomorrow."

"Some of the best stuff doesn't get brought out till nearly 1am. I'll drop you off at work, I promise, and we can go by your apartment to get your clothes."

It's a reckless idea, but then again Azelma was never the most cautious person anyway. Besides she always can nap during her lunch break. "You're lucky that Gavroche is out with friends tonight and that Eponine is on a date, or they'll never let us hear the end of it," she laughs.

"We can't keep on kicking them out of your place," Courfeyrac agrees.

She giggles at the memories of more recent evenings at home, or at least those outside of the now regular ramen nights with their friends. "You've practically taken over our sofa. The landlady is beginning to ask how many of us really live in that place," she informs him.

"I like it your place," Courfeyrac confesses as they get to a red light. "You're there, your siblings are fun, there's food all the time..."

"There you go again," Azelma chides. She knows that this conversation is beginning to get dangerous, but all the same she has to have it out with him if only for practical reasons and to figure out what to do with all of their friends' teasing. "Don't you think it's a bit too small?"

"Small?"

"I could stay over at your place just as well."

Courfeyrac cringes, clearly catching on to what she's saying. "A bachelor's pad is no place for a lady like you, to be honest. My place...well you've seen it. Horrible."

"I _could_ fix it up," Azelma offers. The idea is almost embarrassing, given that she's been going out with him for less than a year, but she figures it will make more sense eventually, maybe even sooner if she has anything to say about it. "I don't have to do it right away."

Courfeyrac is quiet for a far longer time than usual, but soon there is a glint in his eyes that is enough for Azelma to know that all will be well. "Which side of the bed do you prefer?" he asks with a mischievous sidelong grin.

"The right side," Azelma answers immediately.

He groans with mock dismay. "Oh snap. That's the side _I_ also like."

"No fair. You have to give way to a lady," Azelma says as she slaps his hand. "I don't care if it's your bed. You asked." She laughs unashamedly at his pleading look, even though she knows that this point of this debate will be moot if, when they get around to moving in together. '_The only thing left to worry about is breaking it to Eponine and Gavroche,' _she realizes. Of course it will be a big adjustment for the three of them especially since they've divided the rent and other expenses quite well among them for the past few years.

For now though she is content to push these plans out of her mind, more so when she and Courfeyrac pull up outside a squat and quaint looking inn. They get a room that is actually something like a snug loft, with a living area leading up to an elevated and screened off sleeping alcove. "We could ask for pizza delivery or head down to the deli before going to the market," Courfeyrac says as soon as they drop their bags by the door.

"Wrong order," Azelma insists before kissing him soundly, all the while practically dragging him by his shirt collar up to the oversized bed in the alcove. The sheer spontaneity of this tryst is exhilarating since she has rarely been so bold, so willing to live in the moment. It's just as well that she's finally found a person who is more than ready to bring out this side of her, especially when she has to be such a staid and stable character for much of the day.

More than two hours later, when she is sated and sprawled across his chest, she meets his gaze and notices the pensive, almost philosophical look on his face. "You're not thinking about work," she teases.

"No, only about all the ways to make wrong ramen," he replies.

"You're such a typical guy. Always thinking with your stomach."

"Not with a lower portion of the anatomy?"

She laughs at this earthy quip. "Don't you dare say that around Gavroche. He's already got a filthy enough mind as it is thanks to Bahorel," she says.

Courfeyrac sticks out his tongue at her before suddenly propping himself up on his elbows, forcing Azelma to also sit up. "Something is going on outside."

Before Azelma can ask she also hears the commotion of running footsteps, shouts, and sirens outside. She wraps a blanket around herself before peering out of the small window in the sleeping loft. From here she can see several police cars forming a crazy trapezoid around another car that has skidded onto the curb. The streetlights show all too well the crimson stains spreading on the pavement, including a trail of footsteps leading away from the scene but towards the buildings on their side of the street.

"There goes the evening," Courfeyrac mutters just as a thud sounds through the air. He looks up at the ceiling. "That can't be-"

It is at that moment Azelma hears the terrible groan of wood beginning to give way, a split second before Courfeyrac shoves her to the side as the loft seemingly collapses all around them.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Here we go! Sorry for the late update; real life has been crazy. _

_Guest: Thanks!_

_Ceara: All explanations here in good time_

**Res Ipsa Loquitur **

_I_

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were joking."

"Why would I joke about something like that, Eponine?"

The only reply that Eponine musters is a snort that soon dissolves into full blown giggling. "It's just too _ridiculous_! You, of all people!"

"I was a schoolboy at some point," Enjolras deadpans, only to set her off into another round of snickering. Of all the things that come out of Eponine's mouth, her laughter is what Enjolras finds the most endearing, if only for the fact that it's not very easily earned. '_As well as time with her,' _he catches himself thinking as he catches sight of the clock at one end of the Bay View Bistro. It's already nine-thirty in the evening and he now wishes that the next hours will stretch out indefinitely for him and Eponine. '_Simply because the alternative of wishing for no appointments tomorrow for either of us is simply not feasible,' _he notes as he sets down his glass of water.

Eponine fans herself as she catches her breath. "You're the last person I'd imagine to ever play a practical joke," she finally says before taking a sip of wine, taking care not to spill a drop of it down the front of her dark green dress.

"I'm not always so serious, and besides that happened in the name of revenge," he protests. Of course he's not particularly proud of having played a rather deleterious prank that wound up putting him, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac in detention for destruction of school property, but he's not one to deny the existence of the fact.

Nevertheless the smile on Eponine's face is merciless; she's not going to let him live this down that easily. "You usually take the high road with everything. I wouldn't be surprised though if you went the more straightforward route and simply punched the guy's lights out."

This time Enjolras can't help the chuckle that crosses his lips. "You would have done worse."

Eponine smirks at him triumphantly. "Oh you would know." She stops to take another sip of her drink and then sets down her glass. "Speaking about dealing with kids, I have an opportunity to take a course in managing children from crisis situations."

"Don't you already do that?"

"Somewhat. All doctors are required by law to report any suspected case of abuse." She brings a brochure out of her purse and hands it to him. "This is very different."

"I see," Enjolras answers as he begins to peruse the brochure. He's actually seen it before in his workplace; in fact there are a number of trainees and volunteers who have expressed interest in signing up for the course. It's a fairly thorough course of study, involving classes on developmental psychology, counselling, family interventions, and even on first aid for paediatric cases. "This could count as part of your continuing medical education credit," he remarks.

"I'll have to clear that with Dr. Mabeuf and Dr. Lamarque first."

"You could take it just for the self-improvement."

"Yeah, but I think I need more than just intrinsic motivation to stick with it." She laces her fingers together and rests her chin on her knuckles. "I have a lot to deal with already; for one thing I've got major exams next year I have to prep for. Still I _can't_ just pass up this chance to be more helpful than just referring cases down to the unit or making a follow-up slip for upcoming appointments," she adds.

"Crossing the line between doctor and caseworker?" he asks curiously.

"Something like it."

"Almost a little unheard of, at least where you work."

"You're telling me. I remember I was twelve when I had to bring Gavroche to the ER one night. Quite the picture really, me hauling him onto Montparnasse's bike because he couldn't walk all the way to the bus station since he was so weak and feverish. I still remember how the docs and nurses looked at us." She shudders as if she is at the scene once more. "I guess someone filed a referral there but no one really _asked_ us what was going on, or what they could do to help. I don't think they really knew how."

"Hence this course? If you ask me it should be mandatory in medical school."

"Not everyone has the stomach for it, you know."

'_Or the heart,' _he thinks as he clasps her hands tightly. He smiles on seeing the maverick light in her eyes, that very same look she had when she fought to save his life, or more lately when she's thinking up some comeback versus their clever friends. She is so beautiful in this moment and he cannot take his eyes off her. "You'll do the world a great deal of good."

"Not the _world_, Auguste. Maybe a few lives would do," Eponine quips. She catches one of his pinkies with hers. "Your office doesn't exactly have a minors' desk division. Are you sure you don't want to sign up for it too?"

"I'll find something along different lines, after we finish our cases," Enjolras replies, tugging lightly on her finger. Doing child protection is a worthy venture, but he knows that he's more suited to other battles. "Maybe Feuilly or Bossuet would be interested in it too. It would help them a lot with their community fieldwork."

"Not Bahorel or Courfeyrac?"

"Bahorel is more into the weapons and security thing. Did you know he was trying to become a forensics expert back when we were classmates?"

"That's news, to me. What about Courfeyrac?"

"He prefers other specialties," Enjolras says. He pauses to catch himself before he winds up talking shop around her again; although he knows that she likes hearing about what he does, even he knows that their conversations shouldn't be limited only to the cases they work on. "What do you say to having some dessert and coffee?" he suggests.

"It's about time," she says amiably even as her phone begins to ring in her purse. She frowns on seeing the number on her screen. "It's from work. Great."

Enjolras sighs, knowing that Eponine will have no choice but to take the call. One thing he likes about his profession is that he can usually put calls on hold without any ill consequences, which is definitely not something Eponine has the luxury of doing. "I'll see what they've got on the menu?"

She nods before picking up the phone. "Navet, what's up? What, the ER? Are you serious? She's okay, right? At least...okay, I'll be right over," she says, her smile quickly falling into a dismayed look. She cringes as she ends the call. "My sister is in the ER again. She's gotten into some scrape, at least she's going to be fine, but they still need to notify me to pick her up. I'm so sorry, Auguste," she apologizes.

"It happens. We can go out again later in the week," he says, trying not to make his disappointment too apparent. "If Azelma is in the ER that means Courfeyrac is there too."

"Now what on earth could they have been up to this time?" Eponine wonders with a frown. "Navet isn't being specific though. This can't be good."

"I see," Enjolras says. He hands her the dessert menu and catches her wrist to squeeze it lightly. "We can just get coffee and something light to go."

"Okay," she concurs, still sounding mortified at this interruption. She pockets the phone with a frown. "How do you ever put up with this?"

"With cutting our time short?"

"Yeah. I'm always bailing on you, or vice versa, or we're always meeting up late. You'd think I'd be the clingy one about all of this, but I'm the one getting all the after hour calls."

"You, clingy?" he scoffs. "Anyway, I've done my share of overtime too." The rueful look she gives him says it all, but all the same she holds his hands again, as if to tell him that even these brief moments more than make up for the balance.

_II_

It is not often that Bossuet ends up truly alone after work hours. Even on the nights when Joly and Musichetta want time just to themselves, he can usually count on finding any of their other friends at a cafe or gallery, or at least at someone's apartment. '_I must be the only one who forgot to make plans for the evening,' _he muses wryly as he carefully dons a very scratched up but snug helmet before hopping on the motorcycle he's spent the past few weeks tweaking and attempting to make improvements on. He's not sure what freak temporal convergence has allowed for Jehan and Grantaire to be visiting a gallery out of town, for Bahorel to be home with his parents, for Feuilly to be attending a community theatre production at the outskirts of the city, for Combeferre to be at an important research grant meeting, all this while the rest of their friends are out with their respective significant others. Perhaps he'll figure it out before ramen night tomorrow.

Ending up at Avenue 54 is far more deliberate though. Bossuet can practically feel the years falling away as he approaches this winding road, which has seen some of the best and the worst of his life before meeting Joly and Musichetta. Sometimes he thinks he can catch a whiff of cotton candy and charcoal on the breeze, but he soon realizes that the air is thick instead with exhaust and the cloying, woody aroma of old spices. He rolls his eyes on seeing how many cars now clog up the thoroughfare; he could still remember a time when this place was more of a glorified sidewalk. Nevertheless the sight of kiosks and booths forming a large huddle further down the street heartens him somewhat; some things never change in this metropolis.

As he looks for a place to park his motorcycle, he notices a number of police cars forming a barrier near a bend in the road. His hair stands on end when he finds an ambulance in this mix; despite his own impressive track record of hospital and clinic visits, the mere sound of an ambulance still sets him on edge. It's almost always a sign that the trouble is too big to handle or simply laugh off. Of course a building with its roof caved in definitely counts as a bad situation, more so when he sees all the paramedics and policemen swarming at the scene. Through a break in the chaos he catches sight of a couple sitting on the curb while being interviewed by a paramedic. For a moment he blinks, wondering if he is seeing things, but the rueful though cheery expression on the duo's faces are all too familiar to him. "Courf! Zelma!" he calls as he brings his bike to an abrupt stop and jogs over.

Courfeyrac waves at him, never mind the fact that a bandage swathes now most of his right hand. "What brings you here, Bossuet?"

"Nostalgia," Bossuet replies. It's a pull none of them have with regard to this side of town. He gapes as he realizes that Courfeyrac has a blanket draped around his shoulders, and is garbed in nothing else. Azelma interestingly enough is in the same state. "As for you two..."

Azelma groans and buries her face in Courfeyrac's shoulder. "Shut up, Bossuet. This is just a case of bad timing. Get your mind out of the gutter."

Bossuet now ends up snorting, not because his mind was on any particular track, but only because Azelma's plea has the opposite effect. Thankfully the arrival of the paramedics is enough to distract him from going too far down this line of thought, and before he knows it he's asking for permission to accompany his friends in the ambulance. The ambulance driver gives him a sceptical look but motions for him to hop in anyway; perhaps he's seen worse in the way of driving buddies.

As he gets comfortable between the stretchers, he notices the paramedics extricating a man from the wreckage his friends were sitting by. "You weren't alone?" he asks warily.

"He's the one who made the roof cave in," Courfeyrac explains. "Apparently he was being chased; he was pretty scratched up already when he fell in."

Something about this stranger prompts Bossuet to take a second look, and his jaw drops when he sees the police make a circle around this victim. '_That's going to add to the jail time,' _he realizes. He can only hope that this man, whatever crime he committed, will be treated well in the prison infirmary. He makes a mental note to ask about this tomorrow even as the ambulance drives away from Avenue 54 and in the general direction of Saint-Michel Hospital.

When they get to the emergency room, Navet is already there triaging a number of patients. He groans on seeing Azelma, Courfeyrac, and Bossuet. "I should have known one of you would be involved."

"Just them, not me for once," Bossuet informs him cheerily.

"That's a change," Navet grumbles as he hands some forms to them. "Please fill them out. I'll have to make some calls."

Bossuet tries not to laugh when he sees the crestfallen looks on Azelma's and Courfeyrac's faces. "Everyone will know about it eventually. You have to go home and to work tomorrow," he tells them. He waves at Combeferre, who is just running into the emergency room. "Nice to see you at work!"

Combeferre sighs deeply and adjusts his spectacles when he sees his friends in dishabille, but still has a friendly smile for Bossuet. "Nice to see you on your feet."

"Same with you. The joys of night duty, huh?" Bossuet says as he claps Combeferre's shoulders. "Is it always this crazy?"

Combeferre shakes his head. "You haven't seen this place in the early hours of New Year. Firecracker injuries, stuff done while under the influence, and the occasional heart attack or stroke."

Bossuet winces, counting himself lucky that his grades in science classes were enough to deter him from pursuing a career in the health sciences and a preponderance of grisly scenes. '_That is if we're not dealing with hoary cases like the Transnonain quartet,' _he thinks as he watches Combeferre rush off to see to a more critically injured patient.

He fetches a ball pen from the nurses' station so he can help his friends with their paperwork. He knows the top of the form almost by heart: name, birthdate, age, civil status, nationality, gender, address, and contact details. When he gets to the portion on past illnesses, surgeries, and allergies, he realizes that he can fill out many of these details for Courfeyrac and Azelma, perhaps to a lesser degree with the latter. "Did I get this right?" he asks as he holds up the form.

Courfeyrac scrunches his face on seeing the completeness of the information. "That's freaky."

"You guys have been working together for years, of course he has to know _something_," Azelma mutters. "By the way I'm allergic to penicillin," she says, tapping the form.

"Whoa. What do you use for antibiotics then?" Bossuet asks.

"Depending on the bug, either erythromycin or clindamycin. I don't know how Eponine figures out what to give me," Azelma says with a shrug.

"Same here," Bossuet admits. "Joly has mentioned something about gram positives and gram negatives but I don't know how he makes head or tail of it." He counts himself lucky that his best friend is an infectious diseases expert; though Joly has warned him that he would rather not have Bossuet or anyone he knows needing his expertise. '_What with all the exotic bugs he deals with...' _he catches himself thinking even as he hears the ER doors swing open again. He turns and realizes that Enjolras and Eponine have just walked into the room, clearly having just come from dinner. A few of the younger nurses and even some of the patients end up clambering on chairs or out of bed just to shamelessly ogle Enjolras, while a few orderlies and other patients let out wolf-whistles and catcalls at Eponine, but that stir dies down pretty quickly when Navet hands his stethoscope to Eponine.

Eponine takes one look at Azelma and Courfeyrac, and shakes her head. "Do I even _want_ to know the history of this?"

"Only the latter part of it is um, pertinent," Azelma replies, not daring to look her sister in the eye.

"We heard on the radio about the roof cave-in," Enjolras cuts in. "What were you two doing in the night market area anyway?"

"Ramen supplies," Courfeyrac replies cheekily. "Rare ingredients, come on! We have to spice things up," he adds when Enjolras merely raises an eyebrow.

"This ramen addiction will be the death of us," Bossuet quips as he hands the forms over to Eponine.

"Understatement. What are you doing here?" Enjolras asks, turning to him.

"I am merely a passer-by in this picture, an extra if you will," Bossuet says. Some part of him is revelling in the schaudenfraude; for once he is not the patient in the hospital bed, but all the same he would not wish for anyone to be in Courfeyrac and Azelma's position.

"That or you've stolen my lucky piece," Courfeyrac sighs. "This is still counted in our office health policy, is it?" he asks Enjolras.

"Yes, that is the one mercy in this situation," Enjolras grouses.

Azelma elbows Courfeyrac. "Good thing. We'll need the savings," she says in an undertone.

"Savings for what?" Eponine asks, looking up from filling out the forms.

Azelma smiles sheepishly. "Maurice and I were talking about living arrangements."

Eponine crosses her arms. "You mean moving in together?"

"Yeah, what does it look like, Ponine?"

"I wish you'd told me about this before I signed our new lease agreement _two weeks_ ago."

Azelma rolls her eyes. "The idea came up just a few hours ago, and it's not as if I'm moving out from our place right away. You still have time to make arrangements."

For a moment Bossuet worries that the look Eponine gives her sister will actually melt the paint off the wall of the ER. It's warranted though; he knows that the Thenardiers are still paying off the last of the expenses from Azelma's hospitalization months ago, and that Eponine occasionally shells out for medications and equipment for her more underprivileged patients. "She's right. You need to give her and Gavroche some sort of a grace period," he informs Azelma.

"Not just that. Seriously, can't I turn my back for _one night_ without some incident?" Eponine fumes. "Will I have to go by your place every night to make sure you and Courfeyrac are still alive?"

"I'm only a year younger than you, Ponine. I know how to take care of myself," Azelma retorts.

Eponine rolls her eyes. "Fine then. Tell me a solution to the rent problem?"

"You can get someone else to move in, like Enjolras," Azelma replies nonchalantly.

It's all that Bossuet can do not to laugh when Eponine blanch while Enjolras goes very red. Courfeyrac is completely useless and just bursts into uproarious guffaws. "You have to admit that is a practical arrangement," Courfeyrac points out gleefully. "You won't even have to worry about getting an extra bed for him."

"No more flexible over time for you this week," Enjolras retorts. He sighs when he sees Combeferre walk up to them. "I'll help you get these two discharged as soon as possible," he tells him.

"I rather like the comedy though," Combeferre says dryly. "Auguste, there's someone you ought to see though. You too, Bossuet."

Bossuet swallows hard; if Combeferre ever calls their friend by his given name, the situation is almost always serious. He trails Enjolras and Combeferre over to the critical care area, where there is a man hooked up to several tubes and machines. The sporadic beeping and slow lines on the monitors are enough even for Bossuet to know that this unfortunate has just been brought back from the brink of the grave. Something about him seems familiar and he does a double take. "He was at the scene."

"He was the one who caved in the roof," Combeferre explains. "Enjolras, I'm sure the name Chretein Dupond rings a bell?"

Enjolras starts but the look in his eyes is enough to confirm the identity of this patient. "Why were the police after him?"

"No one knows. I know you were looking for him," Combeferre says.

Enjolras nods. "He's the sole reliable witness for the Transnonian case." He grits his teeth and crosses his arms. "There must be some story or some mistake if he was taken for a fugitive. This man should be under witness protection instead."

_III_

One of the things Eponine dislikes most about ER work is the waiting time for lab tests and procedures. '_At least one good hour wasted every time,' _she grouses silently as she looks through the receipts for the blood tests, x-rays, and other ancillary procedures needed before Azelma and Courfeyrac can both be given a clean bill of health. Of course she understands that tests such as complete blood counts, blood typing and crossmatching, and even serum tests for viruses can't and shouldn't be rushed, and that there is a logical order that has to be followed before clearing a patient for x-rays and imaging procedures. All the same it grates on her whenever she cannot proceed without having the numerical findings or films in hand.

'_It's worse when I know they're fine just by taking a look at them,' _she thinks as she glances to where Azelma is looking through her phone while sitting up on a gurney. Courfeyrac has managed to manuever himself into a wheelchair and is now across the room pestering Enjolras and Bossuet. Eponine sighs before catching her sister's eye. "Is it something Gav and I are doing?"

Azelma puts down her phone. "What?"

"Why you want to move out," Eponine says. She could almost cringe at the tone she knows her voice is taking. "I could take on more chores-"

"Ponine-"

"-make sure Gav cleans up the place more-"

"Ponine, really-"

"Maybe even fix the budget-"

"It's not about the two of you!"

Eponine falls silent on hearing her sister raise her voice. "Then what is it then? I know our place is small but it's been fine for the three of us all these years. It's even close to where you and Gav work."

"Ponine, the only reason we picked that apartment was because we needed a place that fit what you were making as a first year resident, and what I was making as a part time teacher. Gavroche was still doing internships then. Those were canned bean days, remember?" Azelma points out.

Eponine grits her teeth at the mention of canned beans. Till this day she cannot stand the stuff if only for the memories it brings up. "We're still not exactly out of the woods yet."

"We'll never be, really. I'm not letting that stop me and Maurice," Azelma insists. "We'll be fine. Just tell me how long you need to smooth things out and I'll do it."

Eponine bites her lip as she looks at her sister. Sometimes she still can't help but see Azelma as the waif who could wriggle her way out of the smallest window in the hovel they used to call home. Yet the scars on her sister's skin don't belong to that frightened child, but to a young woman who once braved gunfire and a road accident in an attempt to save the lives of others. "You've only known Courfeyrac for six months," she finally says. "How sure are you about this?"

"Sure enough so that you can stop fretting about it," Azelma replies. "You think the same things too about Enjolras, I know."

"Not in such exact terms," Eponine retorts even as her cheeks begin to grow hot. '_It could be more than a possibility when it comes to him,' _she realizes as she feels a frisson of delight run down her spine.

Azelma smiles knowingly. "You do have your own life you know. Something beyond just looking out for me and Gavroche. You can't end up fifty and realizing you've worried about nothing else."

"I've got that covered," Eponine replies. All her doubts earlier about taking the certificate course are dispelled with her sister's words. This venture is now something she is determined to own. Before she can explain this to her sister she sees the ER nurse walk in with a stack of papers. "Are those the test results?" she asks.

"Yep. On the left are the results for Mr. Courfeyrac, on the right for Ms. Thenardier," the nurse says as she puts down some of the papers at the foot of Azelma's bed.

Eponine picks up the tests at the top of the stack and breathes a sigh of relief on seeing a familiar set of numbers in front of her. The sight of normal lab values is always comforting to find. That is, till she notices Azelma going very pale as she puts down another sheet of paper. "Zel? What's wrong?"

"It must have been that night last month..." Azelma whispers. She almost reflexively crumples up the result she is holding but at the last moment she lays it flat on her blanket. "I can't get an x-ray."

Eponine's eyes widen when she sees that the paper is for a pregnancy test, which is pretty much mandatory for any female patient their age. It's another story though when the test result is her sister's, and there's a positive sign on it.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who's following the story!_

_Guest: Thank you very much_

**End of an Era**

_I_

"_Maurice, there's just no other way to say it. You're a dad." _

Unfortunately for Courfeyrac his legs had chosen to give out at that precise moment, thus necessitating another round of tests and an extra hour in the emergency room. "At least we're sure that nothing is wrong inside my skull or in my heart," he jokes later as he and Azelma are sitting outside the out-patient OB-GYN clinic.

Azelma only lets out a tired sigh as she rubs her eyes. She's quite a sight wearing a dress borrowed from her sister, who thankfully keeps more than one change of clothes in the surgery staff room. "That's good for you at least."

Courfeyrac reaches for her arm but she shakes her head. "Once again, I'm sorry Zel," he says. "I didn't mean to be so careless."

"It's not that. I was part of it too," Azelma whispers. She looks down at her hands which have somehow found their way to her midsection. "Guess you're stuck with me and this."

"Weren't we talking about moving in together?" he asks as he rolls up the sleeve of his bandaged arm. It's just too bad that he's a little shorter than Combeferre, so of course his borrowed clothes make a rather poor fit.

"Yeah but it was supposed to be simple and us coasting our way along, something we wanted to do, not something we _have_ to do," she retorts bitterly. "You're going to wake up every day to me all hormonal and sick, and then later you're not going to get a wink of sleep when the kid comes along. How is that going to play out?"

"I don't know,' he admits. While he has imagined once in a blue moon how it would be to finally settle down and have a family, especially now with Azelma in the picture. However he has never thought it would happen this soon. '_I thought Joly and Musichetta would marry first, or Marius and Cosette, or Enjolras and Eponine,' _he muses.

It is at that moment that the clinic door opens and Musichetta peers out. "Come on, get in here you two. Eponine told me to make sure you get the first slot for the morning," she says with a smile that is rather perky for this early hour. Nevertheless her expression is serious as she looks through a clipboard, which has the forms and work-ups from their recent trip to the ER. "So what happened?"

"Messed up with the condom, decided to heck with it, just that once," Azelma mutters with a scowl on her face as she sits in one of the chairs in the tiny office, while Courfeyrac remains standing. "That was six weeks or so ago."

Musichetta purses her lips as she jots this down before proceeding to ask a whole series of questions about Azelma's symptoms and health, as well as other queries pertaining to Courfeyrac's own habits and lifestyle. The sheer comprehensiveness of the interview leaves Courfeyrac agog. "Do you really ask all of those to each patient?" he asks Musichetta after a while.

"Yeah, since I don't have just one patient but two," Musichetta explains as she tucks her wavy hair behind her ears. She takes a deep breath and looks from Azelma to Courfeyrac. "So have you two talked about this?"

"Somewhat," Courfeyrac says. They haven't actually sat down and had 'a talk' about this newfound development and all the practical details of it, but all their conversation so far has involved a baby in the picture. It's probably better than dancing around the issue entirely.

Musichetta glances to where Azelma seems to be studying the floor. "So who else knows?" she asks.

"Eponine, Enjolras, Combeferre, Bossuet, and Navet," Azelma says as she looks up. "Gavroche is so going to kill you, Maurice. He thinks that twenty-four is too young to be an uncle."

"If we have a boy, he gets first crack at being a godparent. That should appease him," Courfeyrac says. He's not sure what his own kin will have to say about this impending arrival, but he has learned not to count on a warm reception from that quarter.

"Some godparent he will be. He'd spoil a kid rotten," Azelma mutters, but at least she utters this with a smile. "That should balance out Eponine being the mother hen."

Musichetta cracks up a little at this. "Well let's get started with taking a sonogram, shall we? We'll need to get a few more every now and then to check up on the baby," she says as she gets up to show them to a small side room.

"That's how we'll eventually learn the baby's gender, right?" Azelma asks.

Musichetta nods. "Not right away of course. Unless you want to keep it a surprise?"

"I've had enough of surprises," Azelma says. Thankfully she seems to be in better spirits the entire time the sonogram is being conducted. Her eyes go wide when Musichetta turns the sonogram monitor so that she and even Courfeyrac can have a good look. "Wow. So that's how he or she looks for now?"

The screen shows a blob, or at least that is what Courfeyrac can see, but if he puts his eyes just the barest bit out of focus, he can almost visualize a sort of form in there. He gingerly reaches for Azelma's arm again and this time she doesn't pull away. "Zel? What do you think?"

"I think we can do this," she whispers. She wipes away a tear before pressing his hand. "We're not kids anymore, Maurice."

"About time I guess," he concurs. Twenty-nine is still a little young for fatherhood in his book, and he hopes to high heavens that he does not mess this up.

_II_

When Eponine wakes up in a chair at a corner of the surgery residents' room, it occurs to her for a moment that her strange evening might have been one long strange dream. '_Or not,' _she realizes when she looks down and sees that she is still wearing the same green dress from the night before. She shuts her eyes and rubs her temples as the memories rush back to her. This probably has to be one of the worst ways to find out that one is now an aunt.

'_At least Musichetta agreed to fit Azelma and Courfeyrac into her schedule,' _she thinks, now once again thankful for her ever-accommodating and helpful friend. She stretches slowly and gets out of her seat, feeling a little achy all over thanks to her odd sleeping position. As she goes to her locker to find her toiletries, she hears the staff room door open. "I'll be out for rounds, don't worry," she calls absent-mindedly over her shoulder.

"You might want to change first," Enjolras replies, now making his appearance. Despite the fact that he finally left the hospital just before dawn, he still has managed to find the time to wash up and change into fresh clothes. "I went by your place, and Gavroche helped me get some of your things for today," he explains as he hands over a bag.

"Thanks Auguste," Eponine says before kissing his cheek by way of gratitude. She'd dearly love to linger owing partly to the fact that he smells so good at this hour, but she's all too aware of her own grubby state so she hangs back. "So you're here to also give Courfeyrac a lift to work? He can't drive with his hand in that state."

Enjolras shakes his head. "He asked for the day off. Considering the recent circumstances, it would be unkind not to oblige."

"Bet you didn't imagine this was how our evening would end up. So what are you going to do?"

"What do you say to getting some breakfast first?"

This has to be the best idea of the morning so far. "Give me five minutes," she tells him before she goes into the washroom where she can take a quick shower, brush her teeth and change her clothes. There isn't any hot water but she doesn't mind so much since the cold wakes her up well enough. '_This isn't fair to him,' _she can't help thinking as she towels off and then ties back her hair into a simple ponytail. Enjolras always has a lot on his plate, and he deserves a partner who can make his life easier, not someone who does not have time to look out for him and ends up cutting short their time together because of work.

This line of thought has her stomach in knots when she steps back out and sees Enjolras still in the staff room, having just ended a call. His eyes are dark, which means he is pondering something either grave or momentous. "Auguste, what is it?" Eponine asks as she sits next to him.

Enjolras blinks before turning to look at her. "It's about Chretein Dupond, that man who was brought in last night."

She nods slowly. "He'll live."

"While he's in here. Outside he's a fugitive and he needs witness protection. I don't understand why the police went after him. There has to be some explanation," he says, his tone now rough and frustrated. "I've made calls all night, here and while I was away, but no leads are turning up. I just called the police precinct and they're being cagey."

"You'll find some soon enough, I'm sure," she says insistently as she clasps one of his hands in both of hers. '_Come back to me,' _she pleads silently, knowing all too well how caught up he can get in his work. She reaches up to rub his shoulders, and she winces at the tension she finds there. "If there is any way I can help, you can tell me."

"Can you please contact his family? I need to get everyone's names down for the witness protection program. It extends to them too," he says after a moment.

"You'll have the names as soon as possible," she reassures him. Thankfully he feels more relaxed now under her hand. "Now remember you did ask me to breakfast. Let's go."

Enjolras lets out a ragged breath. "While you were showering, Joly came by with a message. There's a caseworker visiting Elodie in a few minutes. You should go there," he informs her.

"So should you. You're representing her. Anyway that man Dupont is in the ICU complex too and I know you want to look in on him," Eponine reminds him. She takes the opportunity to slip her arms around him, like she's wanted to do since yesterday. "Shall we?"

He catches her lips in a brief yet hard kiss that leaves her flushed in the face. "Very well then."

They pass by the cafeteria for canned coffee and some pastries before heading right upstairs to the intensive care unit complex. "The social worker is here to see Miss Chenier. She also wishes to speak with you both," a nurse informs Eponine and Enjolras.

"Oh," Eponine says, seeing now that there is a woman dressed in a crisp button-down blouse and slacks, seated at Elodie's bedside and nodding as she watches the girl type out something on the keypad. By now Elodie's hair is starting to grow back; dark fuzz can be seen just under the brim of her knitted cap. Elodie suddenly looks up from her typing and her face brightens up as she waves to Eponine and Enjolras. Eponine waves back before the social worker calls Elodie's attention again to continue the interview.

"Have her parents been here to visit?" Enjolras asks the nurse.

The nurse shakes her head. "You two are here more often than they are."

Those words are said with such pity that Eponine has to look away, if only not to let the nurse or Elodie see any sign of her uneasiness. '_It is just like what Maman and Papa did when Gavroche and Zelma got sick while I was in college,' _she recalls. She remembers seeing the Fauchelevents more often in those days, and having them give her updates as to her siblings' conditions, while her parents' phones were always being out of reach or answered by their drinking buddies. She feels Enjolras' hand squeeze hers briefly behind her back, so she grasps his wrist tightly, seeking a grip amid the memories.

After a while the social worker in Elodie's room motions for them to enter the cubicle. "You must be Doctor Thenardier and Attorney Enjolras," she greets cordially, holding out her hand. "I'm Mrs. Plutarque, from our social welfare services."

Eponine tries to keep a straight face as she shakes this lady's hand. Even after all these years the mere mention of this agency leaves a bad taste in her mouth. "Is this your first time to assess her case?"

"I have read the preliminary paperwork, Dr. Thenardier," Mrs. Plutarque says calmly. "It seems as if both of you and your friends have assumed quite a lot of responsibility for the girl."

"Only in emergencies, or when we can't reach her parents," Eponine replies.

"Seems as if that has happened often enough," Mrs. Plutarque mutters. "Would you consider filing for the termination of the Cheniers' parental rights? That way Elodie can become a ward of the state and placed in a more...stable arrangement," she asks Enjolras.

"That's a consideration, but the arrangement would have to be made _before_ filing the motion," Enjolras replies. "One of Elodie's relatives or a family friend will have to take her in."

"That's an optimistic assertion, Attorney Enjolras," Mrs. Plutarque says bluntly.

"Surely there must be someone Elodie prefers?" Eponine asks.

Mrs. Plutarque nods. "Elodie! Who would you like to stay with when you get out of the hospital?" she asks candidly.

Elodie's grin suddenly grows pensive, even a little anxious as she looks towards the adults. The child points to Eponine. "You?" she whispers.

Mrs. Plutarque laughs. "Elodie, she's your doctor. You can't stay with her."

Elodie frowns and points to Enjolras. "What about him?" she manages to rasp out

Enjolras shakes his head. "You need to pick a relative, Elodie. That's how it goes."

The girl shakes her head before getting her keypad to type out. "Who's going to take care of me?"

Eponine takes a deep breath as she clasps Elodie's hand; already she can see tears in the child's eyes. For a moment she is not sure if she can find her voice. "We'll find someone. No matter who it is, we'll see you." She knows better than to make any promises.

_III_

"He's stable, don't worry."

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "Even with that many tubes?" To his eyes, Chretein Dupond appears to be an inch away from death, but if Combeferre says otherwise, then it's better to trust in that.

"Let me frame it this way: he might not need the ventilator by the end of this week," Combeferre says as he puts his phone back in the pocket of his scrubs. "That will only be the beginning of your problems."

Enjolras nods grimly. "The police were chasing him on a supposed charge of robbery. I'm seeing if he has an alibi."

"Ah, you're hoping for a case of mistaken identity?"

"Yes. He lacks a motive."

Combeferre whistles. "Let us hope that it is indeed the case."

Enjolras does not need to voice out the dire picture that is surely going through Combeferre's mind. The circumstances of Dupont's injuries are so strange such that they cannot simply be explained by a police oversight. '_Whoever was chasing him was determined if Dupont got up to the rooftops,' _he notes as he watches Combeferre answering more text messages. "Once he is discharged, he may have to go under a different name," he says.

"That bad?" Combeferre asks. "Are his former bosses so intent on silencing him?"

"Perhaps. It will have to stay that way for as long as he is a witness on the Transnonian case," Enjolras says. The sheer impunity of the situation irks him immensely since it's among the many things he has spent the past few years fighting, to the point of even almost losing his life in the process. '_To this day it is still so difficult to come forward with the truth,' _he thinks, clenching his fist.

Combeferre claps his shoulder. "Don't push yourself too far again, my friend. You still have people counting on you and waiting for you. More than ever."

"Of course." For a moment Enjolras' mind goes back to where he was just a few minutes ago, with Eponine at Elodie's bedside. '_I did not have to promise anything; it just happened in the course of fighting for things,' _he realizes, feeling both unnerved and heartened. When did he ever allow things to get so personal?

This question is still on his mind long after he's left Saint-Michel Hospital and has already started his own work at his own office. For the first hour he busies himself with sorting through paperwork particularly for the Transnonian case. In the course of things he finds a note from the Cheniers' lawyers asking for an appointment; he makes sure to set this on a weekend when Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Eponine are all likely to be present. '_One front taken care of, another coming up,' _he decides as he carefully locks up some of his papers and then takes a bus downtown to the police criminology laboratory where Bahorel spends part of his work hours.

The criminology laboratory, a once decrepit office, is still under a state of renovation. Over here the cloying odor of fresh paint mixes with the reek of formalin to produce a stench that nearly makes Enjolras sneeze. Nevertheless he wills himself to ignore it as he goes to the microscopy room, where he knows Bahorel is assigned to. He finds the weapons specialist examining what appears to be a piece of carpet. "Are you looking for gunpowder?" he asks by way of greeting.

"Alas, only egg stains," Bahorel replies. "The alleged owner of this carpet thought that egg white would help remove traces of blood."

Enjolras rolls his eyes at this absurdity. "Has the lab examined any evidence yet concerning Dupont's incident last night?"

"Dupont, as in Chretein Dupont of the Transnonian estate?" Bahorel clarifies.

"Yes. He was chased last night on Avenue 54," Enjolras explains.

Bahorel chuckles with disbelief. "That was him? You have just identified our John Doe." He sets down the carpet sample and motions for Enjolras to follow him towards the closed off room for processing lab samples. "Where is he now?"

"Under the care of a surgeon." It is all that Enjolras can divulge in this place, given that there may be other ears listening. "What was found at the scene?"

Bahorel quits the room for a few moments and then returns with a handful of pictures. "These bullet casings. There were a few slugs found at the scene, none of them bloodied."

'_They removed two from him though,' _Enjolras recalls quietly. "No blunt objects or blades?"

Bahorel shakes his head. "The bullets are from a standard issue semiautomatic pistol."

Enjolras grits his teeth. "Could be anyone."

"Not exactly," Bahorel says in an undertone. "This particular gun is already known to the police."

"What do you mean?"

"It was the same one that almost did you in, months ago."

_IV_

Gavroche doesn't usually worry about his sisters. After all they are old enough to take care of themselves. However he knows that something is up when he wakes up to Enjolras' showing up at the apartment to get a few things for Eponine such as her medical equipment. "Do I have to break anyone's nose today?" Gavroche asks Enjolras on the latter's way out.

"That depends on what your sisters say later," Enjolras answers quickly.

'_At least not Enjolras' nose,' _Gavroche decides quickly. "Where are Courf and Zelma?"

"At Saint-Michel Hospital. They're not hurt or sick."

"Why are they there then?"

"Ask them later. See you after work," Enjolras says over his shoulder on the way out of the apartment.

This does not make Gavroche feel better; normally Enjolras is so direct even with the most uncomfortable matters, so if he's being evasive that means there is something quite personal afoot. It takes a lot of effort for Gavroche to block the matter from his mind for the rest of the work day, or at least till he returns home for their usual ramen night.

As usual nearly everyone is on time, except for Enjolras, Bahorel, and all the doctors working at Saint-Michel. Gavroche loses no time in scooting over to where Azelma is cooking some fish cakes and vegetables. "A big golden bird told me where you and Courf were last night."

Azelma turns red. "Oh stop it. It wasn't our fault the roof caved in."

Gavroche's eyes go wide. "What roof cave in?"

Azelma cringes for a moment. "Maurice and I were hanging out and then some fugitive running across the rooftops stepped on the wrong spot and brought the ceiling down with him."

"Hanging out? Is that what you and Courfeyrac are calling it nowadays?" Grantaire sniggers from where he is stirring pesto and cheese into a small pot of _shoyu_ broth.

"R, I'm trying to be proper!" Azelma hisses.

"Gav isn't a kid, and this is mature company. If you two got a room, just say you got a room," Grantaire says before he licks some cheese off his fingers. "Courfeyrac, if this recipe gives me the runs tomorrow, you're becoming my personal nurse," he calls.

"Fat chance!" Courfeyrac shouts, holding up his bandaged hand. "You live with Jehan, I live alone. I'm the one at a disadvantage."

Jehan gives Grantaire an affronted look. "I can't believe you forgot about me."

"We're sharing food, and my stomach bug is your stomach bug," Grantaire points out.

Jehan grimaces at this idea. "Sorry about his sense of humor, Cosette," he tells the woman helping him chop up some century eggs.

Cosette merely laughs. "I work at a nursing home, Jehan. I've heard everything."

Gavroche can't help but smile a little wickedly; he still remembers Cosette from the time she and Eponine were classmates in undergrad. "She was the one with the best jokes, if you know what I mean."

"Worse than this one?" Bossuet asks, glancing at Grantaire.

"Ten times as worse!" Gavroche crows.

Cosette clucks her tongue. "You're one to talk."

Gavroche isn't about to apologize for this, or whatever else will come out of his next conversation, which happens to be with Courfeyrac. "So why were you out all night?"

"We had to go the ER," Courfeyrac replies.

Azelma sighs as she wipes her hands and goes over to Courfeyrac. "We may as well tell him. No one can keep a secret in this room," she says.

"Tell me what?" Gavroche asks.

Azelma pauses as if she is trying to compose herself. "You're going to be an uncle in maybe seven and a half months."

"An uncle...what?" Gavroche chokes as he realizes what his sister has just said. "You're knocked up?"

The ensuing silence in the room is so thick that one can hear a pin drop. "Thanks Courf, now I owe Bahorel twenty bucks when he gets here," Grantaire grouses.

"Wait, I'm supposed to be the one making betting pools here, not becoming the subject of them!" Courfeyrac squawks.

"That's a habit that has to stop, pronto," Azelma mutters. "What were you betting on anyway?"

"On Joly and Musichetta's future progeny preceding anyone else's," Jehan admits. "Sorry guys."

"The bet was supposed to be in my favor since Courfeyrac accidentally stood in front of an x-ray machine back in law school and he's supposed to have been firing blanks since then," Grantaire explains.

Gavroche gapes at his friends in disbelief. "That's just gross."

"And that's not how it works," Cosette chimes in. "So you guys found out through a routine work-up?" she asks the parents-to-be.

Azelma nods miserably. "Surprise of the night."

"You felt nothing before?"

"Nothing dramatic like in the movies, if you know what I mean."

Gavroche wisely steers away from this ladies' talk, but he knows that this mental peace is not going to last long, especially when Eponine, Combeferre, Joly, Musichetta, and Marius all turn up just a few minutes later. "Did you and Enjolras know about Zelma and Courf's spawn?" Gavroche asks his oldest sister almost accusingly.

"Yeah, but it's not exactly our place to spoil the surprise," Eponine retorts dryly. She looks around the apartment. "You guys didn't get beer."

"For her sake," Courfeyrac says, gesturing to Azelma before he has to evade her attempt to pinch him. "What, I'm trying to be responsible!"

Gavroche laughs, even as he gets the sinking feeling that soon enough, that word will now become all too familiar to all of them.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: And in which things get real here_

_Guest: Thanks much!_

**Where Only Angels Dare to Tread**

_I_

Mornings are busy but straightforward times for Marius Pontmercy. He has the hours between 7am to 11:30am almost down to a science: after punching in on the hospital bundy clock, he meets the interns rotating in his department, and then gets the updates and ward census from them before making his rounds through the wards. Nevertheless nothing is routine; such is the way of life in the field of neurology after all, wherein a stroke manifests as a thousand deficits across a variety of patients.

This Friday he feels his spirits lifting as he looks through the census of neurology patients. A number of them are set to be discharged before noon, while most of the remaining patients have taken better turns. For one thing Chretein Dupond is off the ventilator and will probably be out of the ICU by Monday, while Elodie Chenier has finally been transferred to a regular room at the paediatrics ward. '_One slow step at a time,' _Marius reminds himself as he makes his rounds. By nature he is cautious with prognosticating his patients, but all the same he wants to allow himself just that tiniest fraction more of hope when it comes to Elodie, especially given all the challenges still ahead of her.

It heartens him to no end when he hears laughter coming from Elodie's room. Everyone has taken great pains to move every single card and gift down from the ICU cubicle to these new accommodations, and now the once drab room is bedecked in pink and green. Elodie is sitting up in bed and giggling at Enjolras' attempts to spoon-feed her some strawberry ice cream. Eponine is seated nearby and writing on a chart, but she is clearly having difficulty keeping a straight face thanks to Enjolras' and Elodie's antics. Marius almost feels bad for having to knock on the door and interrupt this scene. "Did I come in at a bad time?"

"Not at all. Eponine and I will clear out if you need to make your rounds," Enjolras replies as he wipes off some ice cream that has somehow gotten all over his cuffs.

"I think you should stay," Marius says. He can see how at ease Elodie is around the couple, and he knows that this will make his work much easier. "Have you been up to see Dupond?"

Enjolras nods. "Thank you for caring for him. His family will appreciate it."

Marius makes a mental note to give some merits to the clerks in his department; they were the ones who have been pulling Dupond through some difficult nights. "Hello Elodie. Do you remember me, Doctor Pontmercy?" he addresses the child.

Elodie nods slowly. "Where is Miss Cosette?"

"She's at work, but I'll tell her to visit," Marius replies gamely. "Maybe she'll come after work later."

Elodie's grin grows wider. "Are we playing the brain game again?"

"Yes, we have to," Marius replies. "It's just a neurological exam," he explains when he sees Enjolras' eyebrows shoot up and Eponine look up quickly from her work.

"A B for effort," Eponine deadpans as she signs the chart and hands it to Marius. "You two knock yourselves out."

Marius sighs when he sees Eponine's penmanship; it's quite a task to decipher everything through her bold strokes and flourishes. He carefully sets the chart down and brings out a reflex hammer, a tuning fork, and of course his stethoscope. "Elodie, I need you to sit up straight, look at me, and follow what I say," he instructs. He is aware that she knows this, but he just needs to call her attention. "What date is it today?"

Elodie grimaces and looks up. "It's already July. July eleven, twenty-fourteen."

"It's July twelve," Marius corrects gently. "Where are you?"

"Saint-Michel Hospital."

"Your name?"

"Elodie."

"And who else is in this room?"

Elodie pauses and looks to Enjolras and Eponine. "Doctor Pontmercy, Miss Eponine, and Mister Enjolras," she says slowly. Her speech is raspy and halting, but only time will tell if this is due to disuse or some lingering injury.

Marius has to keep this in mind as he asks Elodie to do a series of simple tasks as well as answer a few questions. He has known for a time that Elodie has been lucky to have many things still intact such as the ability to swallow or discriminate between various tactile stimuli. However, now that she is more able to communicate, it becomes more apparent that Elodie has difficulties of a different sort. She takes longer than expected to work out simple equations or to tell the time, and her brow furrows with frustration when she cannot recall the names of her friends from school and her neighbourhood. "Did I win the game?" she asks Marius after a while.

"You did very well," Marius says, hoping to reassure her.

Elodie manages a brave smile. "Can I have more ice cream?" she asks Enjolras and Eponine.

"One scoop is enough for today, kid. You can have more tomorrow," Enjolras says firmly.

Elodie rolls her eyes in that knowing way some children have. She shoots a winsome grin at Eponine. "Can I please?"

"Not yet. We've still got to let your tummy adjust to having more food again before you can have _that_ much," Eponine explains as she adjusts Elodie's knitted bonnet. "Now you're staying down here, you know what you can have?"

"More books?"

"Yes, and movies. As long as you promise to get some sleep, you can watch something later. I'll have someone bring it for you."

Elodie is practically beaming, that is until her eyes train on where the hospital room door is opening again. "Mom? Dad?"

Attorney Chenier's face is impassive, though his wife at least has the decency to smile at their daughter. "What are you doing here?" the older lawyer asks.

"Rounds," Eponine replies, even as she steps just a little closer to Elodie's bed.

Mrs. Chenier nods sceptically. "Elodie, my darling, what do you say to your Mama and Papa?" she croons. "Didn't you miss us?"

The agonized grimace on Elodie's face as she looks first at Enjolras and Eponine, then at her biological parents, is almost more than Marius can bear. He knows all too well how it is to have such heavy words on one's lips. "I've been a good girl," he finally hears the girl say.

"You should be. We're going to bring you home soon," Attorney Chenier says gruffly.

Elodie's round eyes go wide and she almost seems to shrink into the bed. "When?"

"Once we fix some things up and some people stop giving us trouble," Attorney Chenier says, even as he gives Enjolras and Eponine a venomous look. He nods cordially to Marius. "How is my daughter doing, Doctor Pontmercy?"

"She is on the mend, but she will still need care once she is discharged," Marius replies.

"That should be your job," Attorney Chenier snaps.

"She has to get used to life outside the hospital," Marius says. He cannot imagine how the Cheniers will manage caring for a daughter who still cannot go to the bathroom by herself, and will have problems remembering birthdays. "This is not a long-term care facility."

"Excuses," Attorney Chenier sneers. "Are you ready to defend a malpractice suit, Attorney Enjolras?"

Enjolras is not the slightest bit fazed by this jibe. "You can be assured that Elodie will not be discharged until her condition is more markedly improved," he simply says. "We will discuss this again at the hearing in two weeks. You have already received your subpoena, I believe."

Marius tries not to flinch at this legalese; he's never liked the sound of it, which is one reason he opted out of pre-law back in college, and almost failed medical jurisprudence back in medical school. He does not hear what Attorney Chenier has to say before he and his wife quit the room without so much as another look at their child. When Marius looks at Elodie again, he sees that she is shaking despite all of Eponine's rubbing her back and her attempts to coax her into conversation. "She can't go with them," Marius finally says to Enjolras.

"I'm scared," Elodie finally says more loudly. "Do I have to go with them?"

"Not if you don't want to," Enjolras says. He takes a deep breath before crouching so that he's able to look Elodie in the face. "We're all going to help you find someplace safe to live, as long as you want to be there."

'_Why couldn't she be your kid instead?' _Marius catches himself thinking. Yet when he looks at Enjolras and Eponine again, and at how Elodie is clinging to both of them as much as her still immobilized arms will allow, he wonders just how close his thoughts might be to the truth after all.

_II_

Jean Valjean, or better known as Jean Fauchelevent, has never had a doubt that Eponine would sign up for the certificate class. This is why he is hardly surprised when he gets a text message from Dr. Mabeuf, Eponine's superior, asking to meet to discuss this matter. "I hope that I will not be depriving your department of a good resident because of this offer," he greets Mabeuf at the latter's clinic. Thankfully this is during the early afternoon, a time considered generally as a lull in the daily hustle and bustle of the hospital. The quiet as well as the office's good lighting makes it that much easier for even a reserved man like Jean Valjean to linger for more than small talk.

"I'm writing this up as part of Doctor Thenardier's continuing medical education credit, so the department's training program will shoulder part of the cost," Mabeuf replies candidly as he puts his hands on the desk piled high with all kinds of books and papers. "it is just as well, considering recent developments in this hospital."

"Such as?"

"After the incident earlier this year when the hospital had to be placed on lockdown after that attempt on Auguste Enjolras' life, it has become clear that this institution can do much better in terms of our medico-legal work. It is not only true for unusual circumstances such as uprisings and assassinations, but even for how we manage our women and children's desk, or suspected abuse cases, or even the simple matter of determining whether our ER cases warrant the intervention of a lawyer. That's why we're reworking and basically restarting our medico-legal department, including the women and children's desk section."

Jean Valjean whistles at this news. "You do not have a doctor who is _also_ a lawyer on your staff."

"Hopefully that will change; can you convince either Doctor Thenardier or Doctor Combeferre to attend law school?" Mabeuf asks. "You know as well as I do that there has been quite a bit of cooperation lately between our surgical department and the commission on human rights."

Jean Valjean smiles at this diplomatic way of phrasing the rather delicate situation. "Has it suddenly become problematic?"

"The Chenier case, yes. All this accursed publicity...and that before the hearing too. Trial of the year my foot," Mabeuf says with dismay. "Then the Transnonain witness, Dupond, is being cared for here too. Sometimes I am not sure who may be more in danger: the patients or the residents caring for them."

"They are safe as long as they are on the premises," Jean Valjean points out. "Remember that new CCTV system I helped you install months ago?"

Mabeuf cracks a smile. "It's being put to good use. I was referring though to danger once they go home or at least away from the hospital."

Jean Valjean nods slowly. He knows all too well how it is to live while continually looking over one's shoulder, constantly on the lookout for unwelcome recognition. "How may I be of help?"

"The Chenier case first. Apparently it seems as if the girl will become a ward of the state, unless arrangements are made for her," Mabeuf explains. "Doctor Thenardier is, understandably, reluctant to discharge Miss Chenier if she is to be placed in a halfway home or juveniles' center. Those facilities are no place for a girl needing physical and occupational therapy, not to mention psychosocial support."

Jean Valjean looks away just so Mabeuf cannot catch his stricken expression. He still remembers with a painful clarity the day he met Fantine at a soup kitchen when she was desperately begging for an extra ration of food to bring to her sick daughter. '_It took her long enough to stop waking up at night and looking about in case someone would evict her and Cosette again,' _he recalls. He can only imagine what Elodie may be going through. "So you want me to find a permanent guardian?"

"You know people. Good people," Mabeuf says. "More importantly, people with experience. Attorney Enjolras and Attorney Courfeyrac have been working on this, but their search has not been promising."

"How soon should this be done?"

"The hearing is slated for two weeks from now."

Jean Valjean hisses; this is hardly enough time to pinpoint much less properly screen a suitable guardian for this child. Nevertheless he has to try his best. "I have much to consider. I'll let you know though if someone suitable comes to mind."

Mabeuf breathes a sigh of relief. "Please do."

The conversation swiftly turns to other topics, but all the while Jean Valjean wonders if there is anyone he knows who has the necessary resources, but is magnanimous enough to take in such a child. '_Patience is now suddenly one of the world's rarest commodities,' _he realizes grimly, more so when he goes upstairs to make a brief visit. Elodie is fast asleep and unaware of his presence, or perhaps of the fact that she is utterly alone; everyone else is at work at this hour. She is so painfully thin, almost as skinny as Cosette was during those dark days. Somehow Jean Valjean is reminded of a fledgling bird all too easily buffeted by the wind, too easily crushed in a careless grip, yet undoubtedly alive and vivacious.

It is at that moment he gets a text message, from Cosette of all people. '_Dad, I'm down at the rehabilitation medicine department again with Touissant. Can we talk ASAP?' _

'_Sure'_, Jean Valjean replies back, wondering now what his child has to say.

_III_

For all of Jehan's natural capacities with spoken word, he finds himself utterly tongue tied when it comes to Grantaire. "You make rehearsals utterly impossible!" he yells at the man painting a frieze along one wall of their favourite cafe.

"Too bad. You make a fine muse in that attitude," Grantaire quips from his precarious perch on a scaffolding. "An exquisite shade of red there."

"Shut up. Just shut up," Jehan mutters. It's difficult to focus on projecting his voice when Grantaire's ribald and _amusing_ one-liners have him constantly on the verge of laughter. To be honest, the only way to leave him speechless is to kiss him, and Jehan knows that is only the prelude to yet more distraction.

Grantaire knows this of course and is shameless about taking advantage of this fact. "Do I have to? The crowd likes the sound of my voice too."

"Do you have time to practice?" Jehan asks. The 'duet' pieces he and Grantaire sometimes do are among the crowd-drawers here at the Revolution Cafe. It's just too bad that lately they haven't had much time to work on new material. "Of course we could just play off each other..." he trails off.

"I like it when we do."

"Hah, and we'll get hauled out for obscenity again?"

"What's a little raunchiness among friends? It's not good company if you cannot be weird together."

"Tell me about it," Jehan laughs. "Can we do one more _good_ collaboration, before Courf and Azelma meet their spawn?"

"Why do we have a deadline?"

"We'll have to be G-rated then."

Grantaire snorts sceptically before wiping paint off his face. "Tell that to Eponine and Gavroche. You think that any force on earth can censor those two?"

'_Or us,' _Jehan catches himself thinking. Though his friends are among the most opinionated, no-holds barred people he's ever met; Grantaire still stands out for his sheer love of audacity coupled with a penchant for picking up on obscure knowledge. He isn't perfect; every week Jehan finds himself hiding the key to their alcohol cabinet, but Grantaire is the one Jehan would choose day after day.

"Jehan, what do you think of this?" he hears Grantaire call after a few moments. "Tell me what I shouldn't ruin here."

Jehan obliges and hops off the small stage before crossing to where Grantaire has set down his brush. "A mob scene?" he asks, noticing the landscape that Grantaire has painted of a crowd gathered near the city's oldest bridge.

"Not just any mob scene," Grantaire says. "Take a closer look."

Jehan's jaw drops when he realizes that the figure closest to his face is none other than a miniaturized rendering of himself, down to his badly bleached but comfortable jeans. He looks around and sees that all their friends, even little Elodie, even other kids they've met in their work and a number of the cafe regulars are in this painting. "Slice of life?"

"Nope."

"Memory? No, not memory. Not entirely."

Grantaire smiles cryptically. "Mind's eye."

Jehan surveys the painting more carefully, taking in the attitudes that Grantaire has so skilfully captured. None of his friends are painted in their usual work clothes, but just as they are, standing hand in hand or with arms around shoulders and waists. He realizes that the end of the bridge fades out into a ball of light where ancient buildings ought to be. "I love that view best," he says. He just wishes that Grantaire did not paint himself standing too close to the water, almost in shadow.

Grantaire gives him a crooked grin just before reaching into the pocket of his baggy pants. "Speaking of friends..." he mutters, holding up his vibrating phone. He puts the call on speaker. "Hello Feuilly, got bored all of a sudden?" he drawls.

"Um, no. Listen, are you with Jehan?" Feuilly asks.

"Yeah."

"At the Revolution Cafe?"

"Are you stalking us?"

Feuilly curses on the other end of the line. "Don't budge. Bahorel and I will pass by for you in a few. We're heading to the courthouse. Everyone is going to be there."

Jehan feels his heart drop in his stomach; he can already guess what this is about. "So who's going to be Courfeyrac's best man?"


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! _

**Growing Up Is a Piece of Cake**

_I_

Everything in Enjolras' rational mind says that this entire trip to the courthouse is foolishness, and that he'll be damned if he doesn't speak up and decides instead to hold his peace. Nevertheless this is a time when the ten-seconds-before-speaking-rule applies more than ever. '_Diplomacy first,' _he reminds himself as he straightens out the cuffs of his suit jacket.

He goes to where Courfeyrac is pacing by the window, furiously rehearsing his vows and looking quite uncomfortable in his tuxedo. "Courfeyrac, a word with you," Enjolras says as he clasps his friend's shoulder firmly.

Courfeyrac stops in his tracks. "You're going to stop me and Azelma."

"Well no. But since you asked me to be your best man, I must know more about what's going on," Enjolras deadpans. Of course this information will be vital in the unlikely event Courfeyrac and Azelma end up divorcing, but the truth is that Enjolras is speaking more from curiosity and bewilderment. "When you arrived at work today, you didn't have plans of getting married. What happened during your lunchbreak then?"

"Correction, I didn't have plans of getting married _today_," Courfeyrac admits as he scratches the back of his neck. "I went out with Azelma, our discussion turned to that and we figured that there wasn't much use in waiting anyway."

"Yes, but _marriage_? That's a legal proceeding. How did you get a license so quickly?" Enjolras asks.

"Good thing I know the city registrars and more than one justice of the peace."

"Did you consider the other practicalities of your move?"

Courfeyrac breathes a sigh. "Azelma always wanted the perfect wedding, the entire white lace and flowers deal that her parents had. She didn't want to be showing at her wedding too, so I had to at least give her that even on short notice."

Enjolras rubs the bridge of his nose. It's difficult to argue with someone who is so passionate and gung-ho about change the way that Courfeyrac is. The fact that he threw himself into his relationship with Azelma, and now parenthood and marriage without even asking any questions only makes swaying him nigh impossible. "Are there other material reasons for such expediency?"

"None. No money issues, no skeletons in the closet. Come on, stop thinking like a lawyer all the time, Enjolras," Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras nods at the resolute tone of his friend's voice. "So you have been planning for a while now to eventually marry her?"

"I've always known she was a keeper," Courfeyrac explains. "She's one in a million, no, scratch that stupid expression, she's one in the world, and I'd do anything to make her happy."

Were this coming from someone else, Enjolras would roll his eyes at the saccharine words, but they are nothing but the truth where Courfeyrac is concerned. "So everything is in order?"

Courfeyrac nods. "I'm ready when Azelma is ready."

Enjolras casts a glance towards the closed door of the next room, where Azelma is getting ready with Eponine's help. "Shall I check?"

"Wait, let me get out of here first. I can't see her in her wedding dress just yet," Courfeyrac says before quickly exiting the room.

Enjolras chuckles at this superstition; it's surprising what people will stick to when life milestones are concerned. He then goes to the door and knocks once. "How are you two?"

The door flies open and Eponine walks out, rubbing her temples. She's still wearing the same clothes she had at work today; it's a good thing for once that she is in a dress instead of scrubs. "I can't believe it," she groans as she gives him a desperate look. "How can I stand as maid of honor to this?"

"She's your sister," Enjolras deadpans.

Eponine gives him a withering look. "I can't believe you agreed to be the best man. We're straight out of a movie cliché."

It is all that Enjolras can do not to smirk at what Eponine has pointed out. He now sees in the next room Azelma fidgeting with her short lace veil. Her simple white dress flows so well around her figure such that it becomes difficult for anyone to guess if she's gained any weight, at least barring any close inspection. "What time are we supposed to start?"

"Five in the afternoon," Azelma says, glancing at the clock, which reads ten minutes to the appointed hour. "Can you not talk for too long? I can't keep Maurice waiting."

Enjolras nods to her but he is not about to make any promises. He takes Eponine's hand to lead her to a quiet corner of the hallway. "What did you tell her?"

"Everything from how she can't just up and leave home to get married when she did tell me of a grace period before her moving out, all the way to my asking about how sure can she be about marrying him when she's known him for all of six months! Joly and Chetta have been dating for _years_ and there are no wedding bells there, yet!" Eponine fumes. "What did you tell Courfeyrac?"

"We talked of practicalities," Enjolras says. "You know I don't argue using sentiment."

Eponine rolls her eyes. "This isn't logical, Auguste. I know that there's no real reason for them to not push through with the wedding. They're both of legal age and of usually sound mind."

"But the problem is?"

"Azelma is my sister. My younger sister. I'm not saying she's immature or anything, but she's been with Courfeyrac for only half a year. That's too short!"

"Six months is also how long we've known each other," he reminds her.

"We're not the ones with our names on a marriage license!" Eponine blurts out. She goes red as she claps her hands over her mouth. "Did I really say that?"

"You did," Enjolras says, even as he averts his gaze if only to hide his own awkwardness at this matter. '_If I had to get married today, it could only be to Eponine,' _the thought occurs to him. He realizes now that if he had to marry on any day, whether this same hour, the next day, or decades down the road, Eponine would always be the woman he wants in the picture.

Weddings are really not the best places for these sorts of epiphanies, especially the sort that can take one's breath away.

He suddenly feels Eponine squeeze his hand. "Auguste? Are you alright?"

"I am." He takes a deep breath as he meets her eyes, still wide with embarrassment. He touches her cheek, just to make her laugh. "So in the end..."

"I still gave my blessing," she admits awkwardly. "And you?"

"Who am I to stop them?" he says. He glances at the clock, which says that they have just over five minutes left before the scheduled ceremony. "Shall we?"

Eponine finally nods before going back to the room they just vacated. "Come on, Zel, we can't be late for your wedding!" she calls.

"Finally!" Azelma rushes out and hugs her sister tightly. "Thanks for this, Ponine." She whispers something in Eponine's ear that has her blushing. "Enjolras, go on to your place."

"What was that about?" Enjolras asks Eponine, but she is still so flustered that she waves him off towards the hall where the ceremony is supposed to be held..

He figures that this ceremony will be small and private, but still he is astounded at how so many people have turned up for this wedding. Of course Gavroche is there as well as their entire band of friends, but even a number of friends from the human rights commission office and Azelma's own colleagues are now sitting in the hall. Even Cosette's parents are here and have graciously offered to help sponsor the reception. "Everyone is here for the food," Courfeyrac jokes. "How is Azelma?"

"Just you wait," Enjolras replies. Of course Courfeyrac nearly squirms with impatience but that's all gone the moment he sees Azelma entering the room and walking down the aisle. Azelma blushes when she makes eye contact with Courfeyrac, but her hands are steady when they finally find his. The sight of them is so surreal for Enjolras, even throughout the exchange of vows. It doesn't help to see Eponine there as the maid of honor, picture perfect in her lavender dress. Enjolras sees his partner's eyes glisten but she smiles brightly at him; these tears just may be those of joy.

Of course the wedding reception is at the Revolution Cafe. Enjolras does not find out exactly how this place got booked on such short notice, though he does get some inkling of the repayment at hand when he sees Jehan and Grantaire talking with the cafe's proprietor about where to put another set of complicated murals. Dinner happens to be a do-it-yourself stir-fry buffet, an arrangement that suits the very varied culinary predilections of the newly-wedded pair, not to mention their friends.

Enjolras is on his second heaping bowl of vermicelli topped with grilled beef when he sees Eponine nod to him and signal for him to follow her outside to the cafe's back terrace. "What is it?" he asks as he closes the door behind them.

Eponine looks around all the same to make sure they won't be overheard. "I have to give a maid of honor speech, just like you have to give a best man's speech. I have no idea where to begin!"

Enjolras tries not to cringe; this is one part he has not thought about. "It's supposed to be some sort of toast or honouring."

"More like _roasting_ in this case. I'm not letting my sister get away scot-free with pulling this surprise on all of us," Eponine says in an undertone. "I'm calling big sister privileges on this one."

"Are you going to regale us with stories of your childhood?" he asks curiously.

She smiles at this suggestion. "I might. Those were good times, better than high school and some of uni at any rate."

"And very characteristic of your relationship."

"I think so. What about you?"

Enjolras pauses to think. There are a number of choice anecdotes about Courfeyrac's life, particularly during college and law school, which he cannot mention without causing awkwardness or even pain for Azelma. "I'll have to go with how Courfeyrac is becoming a responsible adult," he finally says.

"Has that even happened?"

"I spoke in the present tense. Your sister will have to do the rest of the work."

"Auguste, you're cruel!" Eponine laughs. "Some best man you're shaping up to be!"

"If I was doing this traditionally, the speech would not be G-rated," he points out. "But since this is Courfeyrac, and he's marrying your sister, this is not going to be normal."

"You're just too much of a gentleman," she laughs.

"You're still the big sister to the hilt." He looks to the door, wondering if they are already missed in the gathering. "So are we settled here?"

She nods. "So I get to do the embarrassing part. That means you ought to go after, and be the one to propose the toast." She kisses his cheek and lingers by his ear. "Make it good."

"Challenge accepted." He squeezes her hand briefly before opening the door to allow them to make their discreet entrance back to the party.

_II_

It is not often that Feuilly pushes his limits whether it comes to work or alcohol, but whenever he does his body makes him pay for it in spades the very next day. '_Next person who gets married ought to make it on a weekend,' _he swears inwardly as he rests his elbows on his desk and buries his forehead in his fists. His last solid memory was of dancing after the cake was cut and Grantaire announced he was paying for a keg of lager. That had to be at about ten in the evening, which means there are several hours unaccounted for.

He groans as he looks at the clock, which only reads ten in the morning. Even now he's quite certain that he will be confined to his desk for most of the day and that fieldwork is out of the question. He winces at the sound of typing coming from the next room. "Enjolras, are you still actually _conscious_?" he calls croakily through the connecting door between the offices.

"Designated driver privileges," Enjolras replies, not even looking up from his work. He is alone here, since of course Courfeyrac gets this day off. "How are things over on your side?"

Feuilly looks to where Bahorel has his feet up on his desk and a sombrero on his face while snoring in the next cubicle, while Bossuet is hungrily scarfing down what he calls a triple-bacon-sandwich. "Extremely non-productive."

Enjolras puts aside his typing and goes over to Feuilly's desk. "May I please borrow your community data? I'm reviewing the on-site reports of the Transnonain case, and I need to triangulate."

"It's not much without Dupond filling in the details," Feuilly points out. There is still no telling yet how intact the man's recollection of events will be, given that he took several direct hits to the cranium. From Feuilly's experience with the injured, such as Elodie Chenier, he knows the odds may not be good. "Have you got any other sources?"

"His family, yes. I'd like to start with the neighbours now," Enjolras says, pushing up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. "They have certainly seen things the Dupond family has missed."

Feuilly nods slowly before going through a pile of papers till he locates the folder that Enjolras needs. It's a hodgepodge of handwritten notes and depositions, and he's not sure how useful all this notepaper will be for this high-profile case. '_Better than nothing,' _he decides as he lets his friend return to work.

He's proven right when a few minutes later Enjolras quickly walks back into the office. "We need to hear more from this man," he says, pointing to a name signed on a deposition. "It's a familiar name."

Feuilly freezes on seeing the name his friend is pointing to. He gapes at Enjolras only to be met by a look that signifies that he is not joking about this matter. "How is he involved?"

"He lives in the neighbourhood, and was appointed to the local housing council," Enjolras says. "He is astute as we all know, and would perhaps know a thing or two."

"He may be part of the problem."

"That is possible."

Feuilly grits his teeth. "Why would he want to help you?"

"Because this is a legal investigation," Enjolras replies. "He can get subpoenaed by the courts anyway if it comes out that he knows something material."

"Must you resort to that?" Feuilly asks. He clucks his tongue when Enjolras rolls his eyes. Sometimes it's not easy working with a lawyer who likes taking the harsh road on matters. "No matter the situation, such information does not come for free." He knows that knowledge requires a certain currency, whether it is in goods or favors. As it is, he cannot imagine what they can possibly give to a former senior inspector.

Enjolras grips the edge of the desk. "How can he be legitimately persuaded then?"

"You might wish to choose another informant. Given recent history, he may not be forthcoming," Feuilly points out. "He may not be willing to help you out, in particular."

"That is true," Enjolras says. He turns as if to leave but stops in the doorway. "What is his standing with the community?"

"Reclusive," Feuilly replies. In all the visits he and Bahorel have made to the Transnonain farms, he has never seen or even heard of this informant. '_Perhaps he's gone or living by another name,' _he decides.

Yet Feuilly knows in the marrow of his bones that such men will survive for as long as they will themselves to. This is why people like this man still stalk his nightmares; they do not easily fall prey to accidents and coincidences. '_He had no reason to die, at least not during the last time he was working in this side of town,' _he recalls.

It does not take Feuilly very long to search the databases for the numbers he needs. All his work with local community organizations gives him access to reams of records that would otherwise be barred from public viewing. Sometimes he feels it's unfair to have such a privilege but at this present time he cannot imagine how such information can be wielded with minimal danger of abuse or misuse by malevolent parties or controlling governments. For now though he sets this aside as he zeroes in on the number he needs, a direct line to one of the obscure offices of the neighborhood.

His fingers feel heavy as he picks up the phone and presses button after button. Someone picks up the phone after a couple of rings. "Night Watch Office, Third District," a rough voice greets.

Feuilly has to swallow past the lump in his throat. He's not a scared child of the streets anymore after all. This, plus the distance, should give him less reason to fear. "Good morning, Sir. I'd like to speak with Mr. Sebastien Javert."

"Speaking. May I know who is calling?" the voice answers gruffly.

"The Commission on Human Rights." Feuilly half expects the person on the other end of the line to hang up but he can still hear the sound of breathing. He clears his throat before speaking again. "We would like to ask you a few questions about the Transnonain incident."

This time the silence is longer. Feuilly looks up and sees Enjolras looking through some notes that have just arrived. Enjolras' brow furrows as he opens up one of the notes and he shakes his head at the contents before setting it down. Feuilly swallows hard at this; even from where he sits he can see the ominous red ink on the missive, bringing across the point more graphically than the direst of threats.

_III_

It has been years since Eponine's last psychology-related class during her medical school days, but even so the terms and theories swiftly come to mind once more the minute she begins reading for her certificate course. The exhilaration she feels at this only heightens on the first afternoon of class when she walks into the room and realizes she actually understands the terminology that peppers the other students' conversation. '_It's really putting a name to things I already know,' _she realizes as she finds a seat near the front of the rickety classroom.

The instructor, a kindly looking woman whose hair is wrapped up in a demure white shawl, goes towards Eponine's seat. "Dr. Thenardier, it's a pleasure to have you in our class. My name is Doctor Elizabeth Magloire, PhD of course."

"It's a pleasure, Dr. Magloire," Eponine says politely. "I don't believe we've met before."

"That's true, but your name is difficult to miss nowadays. You're gaining quite the reputation as a trauma surgeon."

"I'm still taking the sub-specialty board exams next year. Then I can wear that designation properly," Eponine explains.

"Best of luck with that then," Dr. Magloire says as she begins looking through the class list." I see that Attorney Enjolras will not be taking this class?" she asks disappointedly.

"His schedule won't allow for it," Eponine replies as she begins unconsciously rubbing the mark on her forearm. She sees Dr. Magloire's eyebrows shoot up on noticing this. "Sorry Doctor."

"No there's no need for that. I ought to adjust the air conditioning in this room anyway," Dr. Magloire says amiably. "We'll have an orientation for most of this session, so you can relax in the meantime."

'_I hope I won't regret this,' _Eponine thinks as she watches Dr. Magloire cross the room to adjust the thermostat, then return to the podium at the front of the room in order to officially begin the class. She sees that most of the other students are a few years younger than her; some of them do not even look as if they have graduated from college. There are some middle-aged students and even a couple of senior citizens, but these have already formed their own groups. '_This is what I get for being a very old 29,' _she decides. Much of the time she doesn't feel her age, that is to say that she doesn't feel young. It's difficult to do so with a life that has phases so divergent that they almost seem to be different lifetimes in themselves.

The feeling doesn't fade when Dr Magloire asks the members of the class to stand up one by one to introduce themselves, stating their names, occupations, and why they're taking this class. Many of the students are taking it for the additional professional credentials or because of requirements in their workplaces. By the time it gets to Eponine's turn, she still hasn't quite zeroed in on an answer. Nevertheless she gets to her feet and fights the urge to wipe her clammy hands on her pants."My name is Eponine Thenardier, I'm a surgeon, and I'm taking this class..." she trails off. So many answers leap to her lips. '_I know what it's like to be in crisis. I want to help kids who are like me. Because sometimes I think that this is saving me.' _

She looks down just long enough to find her voice. "I'm taking this class because I want to do something more for the patients I meet," she finishes.

Many of the members of the class nod approvingly but a few shoot questioning, almost scrutinizing looks in her direction. Eponine does not look away even as she sits down; inasmuch as she does not want to explain her life and circumstances here, she knows better than to show any sign of fear or shame. Nevertheless she feels more than just a frisson of relief when Dr. Magloire claps her hands cheerily and begins the course orientation, explaining the syllabus painstakingly. What sounds like simple reading and case studies suddenly seems formidable and in fact some people are squirming in their seats.

"And lastly, you are all be expected to log in two weeks of practicum at a shelter, halfway home, or institution," Dr. Magloire finishes with a look that would be blithe if not for her serious tone. "As early as now, I want you to start considering where you will fulfil this requirement. That will be all for this afternoon; you can approach me after for questions or to clarify your reading assignment for our next meeting. Class dismissed."

Eponine closes her eyes briefly, willing herself not to tremble. '_You knew this was part of the course, so woman up and deal with it,' _she reminds herself. In her mind's eye she sees herself standing before a safe that is supposed to be locked but is now creaking open to reveal a yawning darkness. It's a dream she's had over and over since getting into medical school, and she knows it's only a matter of time till the vision may change. '_I don't need this now,' _she tells herself over and over as she gathers up her tote and takes the bus back to Saint-Michel Hospital.

It's at times like these that she is thankful for a good emergency or two decked to her care. For as long as she is scrubbed in everything in her consciousness is focused on that life on the operating room table, on putting back broken and torn sinews so that a body may carry its spark just a little further. This afternoon her patient is a construction worker who has gotten impaled on a spar. It is not a simple matter of drawing the metal out for each inch brings with it added peril of bleeding, further lacerations or simply damage that will not become apparent till later. Her hands are light and quick, suturing together torn flesh and stopping blood where it wells up. She does not feel the hours passing, not till she finishes closing the wound and the scrub nurse calls out the time: 6:00 in the evening.

"A little slow today, Ma'am?" one of the older nurses asks concernedly. "That was three, nearly four hours tops."

"It was a deep one," Eponine replies. That's true, but even so she knows that on any other day, she would have been out of the operating room in three fourths or half the time. '_I just have a lot on my mind,' _she decides. With her sister's surprise wedding and now this new class requirement on top of the usual things she has to deal with at work, it's no wonder she's a little under the weather. Nevertheless she steels herself to make her usual rounds, saving Elodie's room as the last on her agenda as always. All is well, as far as patient care is concerned, and it eases her tired mind greatly.

When she gets to Elodie's room, she finds Cosette there, talking with the girl about a novel. Not surprisingly it's a tale of high adventure, judging from the cover. "Hello you two," Eponine greets as she sets her tote down. "How are you doing?"

"Splendid!" Elodie manages to say, nearly tripping on the word. Her arms and legs are out of their casts now, but she still stays in one place, not quite used anymore to the freedom of movement. Nevertheless her smile still stretches from ear to ear. "I have exercises today!" she adds.

"Physical therapy," Cosette corrects. She looks at Eponine concernedly. "You look wiped out."

"I was supposed to get some sleep last night but the Courfeyracs had other ideas," Eponine deadpans. She's never going to get used to hearing her sister's given name paired with her friend's surname. "I'm glad your parents showed up. It was quite the surprise."

"When Marius told me what Courfeyrac and your sister were up to, I just _had_ to text them right away," Cosette explains. "He's always liked looking out for you and your siblings."

'_If Zelma had a church wedding, she would have asked Mr. Fauchelevent to walk her down the aisle' _Eponine can't help thinking. "At least we don't have to worry about any controversial incidents. That's one upside of not having time for a bachelor party or bridal shower," she quips.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up for the next wedding," Cosette points out. "They'll still want to have their cake and eat it too."

"You'll be next," Eponine teases. "The way you and Pontmercy-"

"Still too soon!" Cosette laughs with protest. "But what about you and-"

Eponine shakes her head. She cannot quite picture this step just yet, not even if her sister's wedding has a way of giving interesting suggestions. '_Not till some things clear up,' _she thinks, glancing at her patient.

In the meantime Elodie squirms uncomfortably. "I need to pee," she whispers a little embarrassedly. "How do I go to the bathroom?"

"You have a bedpan," Eponine reminds her.

Elodie shakes her head. "Do I _have_ to?"

"I'll help you carry her," Cosette tells Eponine. "The bathroom isn't far off."

"Will do," Eponine says before getting into position to help pick up Elodie and move her to the small washroom a few steps away. She makes a mental note to secure commode privileges for Elodie, in order to make this task easier as well as to give her some semblance of control. '_This should be her mother's work,' _she thinks but she banishes this thought. She can't imagine Mrs. Chenier doing this for her child. Eponine has to admit that in some way her own mother was better when it came to dealing with the nitty gritty of raising children. She can remember one night when her mother taught her and Azelma how to wash their hair under a cold tap. Somehow she could still laugh then, which is more than her favourite patient can say.

It takes time till Elodie is settled back in bed and reading her book again. Eponine quickly finishes writing in a chart and is just about to excuse herself when suddenly she sees Elodie put down her book. "Why don't you and Mister Enjolras want to get married?"Elodie asks.

Eponine blinks, surprised that Elodie should ask. "What makes you think so?"

"I know," Elodie says, putting her hands on top of the book. Her eyes are curious and a little frightened as she looks at Eponine. "Don't you love him?"

This time Eponine bites her lip. She's always avoided trying to properly name what she feels for him, since for the first time in her life she wants to let things just be. It's the only way she can imagine their being together, given everything that confronts them. She knows she can lose him if she pushes things to what is more than feasible for their position.

Yet how long can that last? Eponine sighs before meeting Elodie's still curious look. "You'll understand when you're older, baby. You just will."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!_

**Lairs and Nests**

_I_

Even at the best of times Sebastien Javert did not choose to live in luxury, or even in quarters befitting his station. Nevertheless he has to admit that the outpost at the edge of the Transnonain hamlet is skirting the bottom line of frugality. '_This is a box, not an apartment,' _it occurs to him as he pulls some dry clothes off a rope strung from window to window of his single room on the ground floor of a tenement. Nevertheless it is a dry box, and big enough for a wrought iron bed, a squat chest of drawers for books and clothes, two chairs, and a table. The walls are bare but clean, with no cracks, and the only source of light is a single bare bulb in the middle of the ceiling. It is only a room to be alone in since everything else such as cooking and washing has to be done at the common facilities down the hall.

'_A room to hide in,' _he also decides as he sits down to relieve the ache in his knees. This is something new, or perhaps it is only rearing its head now thanks to his being relatively sedentary ever since his arrival in this neighbourhood. Ever since his failure to quell the uprising in the capital, followed by his resignation from the police, he has felt the need to hide his face. The sun can summon him and the neighbours can yell, but he is not going to allow anyone to connect him with the former Senior Inspector of the East Police District.

As he runs his fingers through his graying hair, he hears footsteps in the hall and a single urgent knock on the door. "Good morning. Is anyone home?" a strong voice calls.

Javert sighs deeply at this polite but insistent inquiry. He knows better though than to ignore this, lest he be served a more unwelcome sort of summons. He combs out his hair and dusts off his shirt and long shorts in order to achieve a more decorous look before getting up to open the door. "To what do I owe this visit, Attorney Enjolras?" he greets.

"To the people, and the Dupond family," Enjolras replies cordially. He is dressed in a blue-button down shirt and trousers, rather casual for his usual line of work but still acceptable for a visit of inquiry. "How have you been, Mr. Javert?"

Javert huffs and crosses his arms. Thanks to this young man's courtesy, he also has to answer in kind instead of just sending him away. Yet he will do all he can to keep this meeting short. "I was undisturbed, till your friend Feuilly made that call. You are endangering me."

"That is hardly my intention," Enjolras replies. "Your protection will depend on whether the witness protection program will consider you as a material witness for the Transnonian case."

The taste of metal wells up in Javert's mouth as visions of that night of blood flit before his eyes. "I didn't see everything."

"You saw more. Their faces. The injuries. Everything that happened before the Night Watch took the victims to the hospital, or the morgue," Enjolras says. "The report you filed at the end of your shift was rather middling in detail. I believe I am not the only one who has noticed by now."

Javert tries not to flinch even as he is keenly aware that Enjolras has gotten to the truth of the matter. _'He will not leave without those details,' _he realizes, knowing all too well the fierceness of this young man's manner. "Are you alone?" he asks.

"The office is aware of my whereabouts," Enjolras says with a knowing smile.

'_Good that he's learned some prudence,' _Javert decides before motioning for Enjolras to enter the apartment, where hopefully they will have less chance of being overheard by the neighbourhood spies. "Where is Chretein Dupond?" he asks once he closes the door.

"Alive and well," Enjolras replies calmly.

Javert nods, knowing that Enjolras is being discreet about this particular witness. Everyone in the neighbourhood has been living in fear ever since Dupond was run out of the hamlet with gunshots at his heels. "How is Dr. Thenardier?" he asks more convivially. "I heard she's busy taking care too of another of your clients?"

"That she is," Enjolras replies without missing a beat. "Is there more you intend to ask in the way of small talk?"

"Of course not," Javert says. Even so he can tell that what had started as Enjolras' obvious attraction to the young surgeon has grown into a far more interesting and perhaps dangerous partnership. "My report may have been circumspect, but I heard that the forensic investigation yielded more evidence."

"Evidence always requires verification," Enjolras replies. He brings out a sheaf of labelled sketches. "Please verify if this is the place where the ambush occurred and if these are the individuals present at the incident," he says.

Javert surveys the sketches carefully, hoping his face does not betray any sign of recognition. The artist and the witness providing the information were very thorough, capturing the perpetrators' visages down to every last pockmark. "They are," he says at last.

"Are you acquainted with them?" Enjolras asks slowly.

"Not intimately," Javert clarifies. "This is not a big hamlet though, and they are well known."

The lawyer nods before bringing out another document, this time a ballistics report. "This is from the investigation concerning the attack on Dupond, in the area of Avenue 54. Are there any details here that are known to you?"

Javert frowns as he surveys the report. It's fairly run of the mill: five entry wounds, four exit wounds, one slug retrieved from the victim's body, all from a police issue firearm. "What about it?"

"That gun was previously confiscated by your investigating team," Enjolras answers, but now all humor and candor is gone from his tone. "Saint Michel Square, nearly nine months ago."

'_Of course he'd remember,' _Javert thinks. "That pistol was locked up and decommissioned."

"Apparently not. The bullets match the scenes perfectly."

"If you mean to imply that I released the pistol back into the force, you are wrong. This sort of treachery is precisely why I resigned from the force. I told you as much before."

Enjolras' expression is grim as he crosses his arms. "You did not bring up specific names."

'_Because it is difficult and deathly to untangle that web,' _Javert thinks. He still cannot forget anything of what he uncovered when he was figuring out his decision in the aftermath of the investigation of the assassination attempts at Saint-Michel. "Your reforms have failed to purge them," he finally says.

"They are still on the force?"

"What is stopping them from opening up the caches and using a decommissioned weapon? It would cover up their tracks well. I would suggest you place your commission's forensics team and weapons specialist-Bahorel, isn't it, under protection as well. As well as the surgeon who extracted the bullets from Dupond."

Enjolras' eyes narrow as he retrieves the ballistics report. "So you know of a threat?"

"There always was one," Javert says. "Your investigations of past atrocities are tracking old footprints; the root is in the ways of the police force."

"Would you speak out against it?"

"I would not dare."

"You are no longer associated with them."

"What good would it do?" Javert retorts. '_It will only provoke disorder once more,' _he realizes. He can only imagine the chaos that would arise once the full extent of impunity is revealed, especially to a still agitated and revolutionary-minded populace. "I will only be branded as a traitor."

"A man doing his duty. As you always have done," Enjolras answers. "This is not the time for cowardice."

The word is like a slap to Javert's face. "This is the time for prudence, Attorney," he snarls. "Go home. Go back to Dr. Thenardier, get her out of this. That little girl too, and your friends."

"I will not. Not without my answers," Enjolras says.

Javert surveys Enjolras' face, knowing marble when he sees it. In that he has not changed, or in fact has only grown more resolute. Who is he to go up against such cold fire? He gets up from his seat to retrieve a paper and a pencil. He writes several names, backwards so that they can only be read in a mirror. "Begin there," he says, shoving the paper at Enjolras.

The young man nods. "Thank you, Mr. Javert. I assure you, you will not regret this."

"I fear I may."

"Should you wish to leave this area, I will help see to it."

Javert frowns, wondering if it will be necessary. "Do not return then." He knows that by saying this he is leaving himself open to a more official summons from the commission or even a court subpoena, but this is a small price to pay for peace of mind and peace for this beleaguered area. "If you are seen in this neighbourhood again, I cannot guarantee your life, Attorney."

"Understood," Enjolras says. "Thank you once again for your assistance, Sir."

Javert nods curtly. "Send my regards to Dr. Thenardier and her family." He does not wait for Enjolras to make any reply before closing the door, already feeling the first stirrings of danger intruding on this too-fragile peace.

_II_

Eponine never likes that time of the year when the trainees at Saint Michel Hospital start looking out for the lists and rankings posted on the department bulletin boards. It's a time when thorns and claws seem to appear everywhere, even among the closest of friends and colleagues. '_The narrower the list, the worse the fight,' _she notes grimly when she hears two of her fellow surgery residents trading insults in the staff room during lunch break.

As she returns to correcting a clinical abstract on her laptop, she hears a chair scrape the floor next to her desk. "Tough as nails even now, I see," she hears a deep voice drawl lazily. "Shouldn't you be afraid of the competition?"

"I'm not about to start now, Reynault," she retorts, shooting a glance at her fellow resident. "Shouldn't you be scrubbing in by one?"

Reynault whistles. "Starting off the chief resident vibe as early as now? It would be a first to have a girl chief resident in this place."

"There was one seven years ago. Her name was Dr. Stael. She still does consultancies here," Eponine says. '_If that happened again, I'm not sure how the guys would all handle it,' _she thinks as she looks to where some of the other surgeons, including Combeferre and Navet, are discussing football statistics. There are only eight residents who have the necessary rank to be considered for the chief position, and it so happens that she is the only lady in this bunch. It's a curious situation, and one that gives her more to hope for than she'd dare to publicly admit.

Suddenly the chatter falls silent as the staff room door opens. "Hello Dr. Mabeuf!" Navet greets cheerily, taking care to cover the computer monitor that is still live streaming a football game.

Mabeuf nods by way of acknowledgment. "Is everyone here?" he asks as his eyes survey the room. "I am sure you have all already guessed what I will be announcing in a few minutes..."

The room erupts in murmurs and whispers, forcing Mabeuf to hold up his hands for quiet. "Screening for the chief resident post begins today. The promotions committee has gone over the evaluations of the senior residents, to come up with a short list of five candidates. Now this does not reflect on your capacities as surgeons, but only whether you are suited for this responsibility at this point in time."

"Oh cut the drama, who is it going to be?" Reynault mutters.

Mabeuf gives him a warning look before clearing his throat. "For everyone's consideration: Dr. Daniel Combeferre, Dr. Martin de Potiers, Dr. Fabian Perez, Dr. Ambroise Tallien, and Dr. Edward Snow. Congratulations to you gentlemen."

Just hearing Combeferre's name on this list is enough reason for Eponine to join in the applause, even as she becomes aware of the pitying looks that some of her colleagues are giving her. Nevertheless she gets out of her seat and crosses the room to where Combeferre is shaking the hands of some of his neighbours. "If the committee didn't pick you, we'd have to refer them for mental status examinations," she says proudly to him as she clasps his arm.

Combeferre smiles warmly at her but there is still a bit of worry in his eyes. "Why not you too?"

"Me, taking charge of this lot? Only when pigs have wings," Eponine quips. Nevertheless she can't deny that hollow feeling in her stomach on hearing Mabeuf's announcement. '_Some dreams are just a little bit too big for you,' _she tells herself.

That is until she sees Mabeuf nod to her. "May I please have a word with you, Eponine?"

She bites her lip and nods, all the while aware of the 'oohs' and clucking tongues around her. '_He's probably going to tell me why I didn't make the cut,' _she realizes as she follows Mabeuf to the consultants' cubicle. She tries to keep a straight face when she takes a seat while he is looking through his desk. "Did I do something wrong?"

Mabeuf laughs. "What gave you that idea?"

Eponine feels her face burn at this query. "The list," she manages to say. "My evaluations are _that_ bad, aren't they?"

A look of comprehension crosses the older doctor's face."You should have been towards the top of the list, Eponine. However I had you pulled out of consideration for a particular reason that does not reflect _at all_ on your capabilities as a surgeon." He holds out a folder with her name on it. "How would you like to be the officer in charge of our new Social Interventions Department?"

"Is this the same as Medico-Legal?" Eponine asks tentatively as she begins reading the department's mission and description written on the folio's first page. She's heard talk that the medico-legal department has been under reorganization, but she has not imagined it would take on this form.

"Not exactly. I'm keeping that office for filing the usual accident reports, medical certificates and death protocols. This work is far less retroactive," Mabeuf explains. "As you probably already know, this hospital tends to attract a...great deal of cases requiring the help of social services or even the courts, even before the patient is discharged. This office is meant to investigate these cases and facilitate the proper interventions and liaisons necessary for our patients' continuation of care."

Eponine bites her lip again as she mulls over the processes outlined in the folio. "Shouldn't a social worker be in charge of this?"

"The hospital administration would feel more assured with the quality of care, at least from a medical perspective, if there was a physician in charge. Of course you will be working with the social services and other government offices; much of your job will be coordinating with them once you have pinpointed the needs of the patient," Mabeuf explains

"Is this why you allowed me to take that certificate course?"

"That is one of the reasons."

For a long time Eponine is silent as she looks at the folio and then casts a glance towards where Combeferre, Navet , and the other surgeons have returned to their usual chatter that now includes a lot of betting about the chief resident post. '_I did want it a little,' _she thinks. It's not easy being a woman in her profession and she can use every edge given to her. '_Yet it would have only been for a year,' _she reminds herself. By this time next year she should be taking the specialty board exams to become a full-fledged trauma surgeon and officially graduate from the residency program. This new assignment is something more indefinite, something that could be hers for a long while.

She takes a few more moments to survey the flowcharts, proposed procedures, and contacts outlined in the folio. At least she's not going in entirely alone. "So when do I start?" she asks.

"Next week." Mabeuf pauses to glance at a calendar. "Unless you still have other responsibilities relating to the Chenier case?"

"Hopefully not, Doc. The trial starts tomorrow," Eponine answers. She's going to have to check up on Enjolras later to make sure that he eats a proper dinner and gets to sleep at a decent hour. A good plan for this starts running through her mind even as she and Mabeuf discuss a few more details about this upcoming assignment and then she excuses herself to get back to her work.

Much to her dismay Reynault is still in the staff room; it appears that the cholecystectomy he's been assigned to has suddenly been deferred. He smirks at Eponine as she is returning to her desk. "What did the boss want to talk to you about?"

"Some extra work," Eponine replies nonchalantly. She'll leave it to Mabeuf or someone else to properly make the announcement about the new office.

Reynault laughs as he glances from her to Combeferre. "Guess there's no more time for fucking with the future boss, Thenardier?"

"Shut up," Eponine mutters through gritted teeth. It's no secret that she and Combeferre were a couple back in medical school; to this day she's thankful that it ended there since she likes him better as a colleague and ally than as a bickering boyfriend. Thankfully _most_ people at work do not bring up this fact, if only to avoid the awkward storytelling.

"Reynault, don't you have rounds to make?" Combeferre calls exasperatedly. "You really ought to start working on that professional behaviour."

Eponine shuts her eyes, silently thankful for this save. '_It is that or I would have demolished Reynault myself,' _she decides. She looks up when Combeferre approaches her workspace. "Someone has to make brain bleach or a filter for that guy."

"He's better taken care off with a suture," Combeferre says, miming stitching a mouth shut. "I still cannot believe that you didn't make the short list. You're just as good as I am."

She shrugs, knowing that this is the truth as well as his way of trying to make her feel better. Even she knows that his brilliance as a surgeon is unmatched; their superiors already regard him as a force to be reckoned with. '_He'll keep this situation discreet,' _she decides quietly as she meets his eyes. "Dr. Mabeuf offered me a position," she begins. "It's doing social interventions for our patients-lots of child protection, counselling, social services with a legal edge."

Combeferre's eyes go wide behind his spectacles. "That's big."

"I know."

"Bigger than being chief resident, I think."

"I can handle it." He is not the only person she has to convince. "That's why I'm studying too, to be able to do this."

"You're the best person for the job. No one else has your intuition," Combeferre says as he claps her back. His smile is worried, bemused, and puzzled all at once, something that isn't new to her. "But it's a new item. _Terra incognita." _

"So much the better for me."

"Of course. Once again, congratulations."

"Thanks! Good luck with the rest of the screening!" she calls over the sound of the pager summoning Combeferre to the operating room. '_He can't help thinking that way,' _she reminds herself. It's that competitiveness that led to more fights than she'd like to remember; it's fortunate for her, Joly, Musichetta, and a lot of other people that their friendship was always more important than any promotion or evaluation. She can only hope that will continue to last.

The rest of the afternoon is quiet for her, with a few relatively simple surgeries, and of course the rounds she usually makes before going home. '_Who will I find visiting Elodie this time?' _she wonders amusedly as she makes her way down to the paediatrics wing. Eponine feels something grow warm in her chest when she hears a certain baritone voice coming from the hospital room, so she quickens her pace but takes care not to walk in just yet. She has feared all day that she would not hear from this particular person, given that earlier this morning he left to make a seemingly dangerous visit. She presses her knuckles to her mouth to muffle her laughter at the sight of Enjolras coaching Elodie through some of her physical therapy exercises. Elodie's eyes are narrowed in an effort to concentrate as she lifts her arms and tries to hold them steady for a few seconds; she manages it for ten seconds before grimacing and letting her arms lie flat again. Enjolras smiles proudly at Elodie and pats the top of her head encouragingly before handing her a cup of water.

It is at that moment that Elodie looks towards the door and practically beams on seeing Eponine. "Look at what I can do again!" she announces gleefully as she starts lifting her arms again, and this time she manages to catch Enjolras' hands to help hold her up. "Don't drop me!"

"Okay but you hold on tight," Enjolras coaxes her. "Can you try to count to fifteen?"

Elodie shuts her eyes and starts counting, and reaches twelve before her grip starts to slacken. Enjolras notices this and sets her down carefully on the bed. "That was longer. Good job," he says.

Elodie grins up proudly at him and then at Eponine. "I couldn't get them to move yesterday but they're better now."

"You're doing so well, baby," Eponine agrees as she helps Elodie adjust her blankets. She reaches over to clasp Enjolras' wrist, and their hands meet halfway so that his fingers can wrap around hers in that firm way she's come to enjoy so much. "You're early today."

"I got back in town sooner than I thought I would," he explains. His smile is satisfied, even enthusiastic perhaps at what he's just learned. Nevertheless there is still a very telling strain in his neck and shoulders, something that is palpable even in the way his fingers run over Eponine's. "It was a good trip," he adds, catching her gaze meaningfully.

She nods, understanding now that his talk with Javert must have been more informative than either of them had expected. "Now just for that, you're getting the night off," she says. "You need your rest before tomorrow."

Elodie seems to stiffen at the word 'tomorrow'. "Will I still see you both?"

"I might be busy for a few days, but once I have time, I'll come by," Enjolras replies.

"I'll be here though," Eponine says more reassuringly. She has no idea how this case will play out, even if the evidence is very strong. It is still possible that the Cheniers may win and force her to sign out of this girl's case. This is why she does not dare to make any more promises just yet. So instead she just settles for rubbing Elodie's back and then tucking her in before excusing herself to finish writing on her patient's chart. She waits for Enjolras to finish saying goodnight to Elodie before taking his hand and going with him out the door. On the way out she notices a clumsily drawn picture at Elodie's bedside. It is of a house with a yard covered with flowers and trees. There are three people standing by the house: a little girl with braids, a woman in pants and a long coat, and a man in a suit and with messy light hair. Eponine feels a lump in her throat but she only squeezes Enjolras' hand more tightly as they make their way out of the paediatrics wing.

They do not say anything all the while they are in the elevator, and even as they are crossing the street to where Enjolras has parked his car. Nevertheless the silence and proximity are more than comfortable especially once they are alone in the car. As she buckles up in the passenger seat she sees Enjolras take a deep breath and crack his knuckles. "So what did the former inspector have to say?" she asks as she rests a hand on his knee.

"He sends his regards," he replies, patting her fingers before starting the car.

Eponine rolls her eyes, unable to imagine such words from Javert. "How much help did he give?"

"Enough," he replies. He takes a few deep breaths. "It's pretty bad though. Transnonain is only the tip of the iceberg. So is everything else that has happened when it comes to the police."

Eponine tightens her grip on his knee, remembering all too well what had nearly ended his life several months ago. She shakes her head before other memories can come to mind; now is not the time for her to dwell in her own past. "This is your work. I guess you can say it's all cut out for you now," she says once they get to a traffic light.

"A little too clearly," Enjolras confesses. "It's going to keep the office busy. Hopefully it won't send too many cases your way."

Eponine laughs, knowing now she has to tell him of the events in the staffroom. "It's unavoidable, now that I'm Saint Michel Hospital's officer in charge for Social Interventions!"

"Social interventions?" he repeats. "That's social work?"

"Some of it, but also liaising with offices like yours, or anything that needs outside intervention and community work," she explains. "I'll be seeing a bit more of you."

He laughs. "Is that a good thing? Whatever happened to going for chief resident?"

She shrugs. "It's not for me. I will still be doing surgery though, but this is something else."

"Something _good_," Enjolras says, his smile now reaching his eyes for the first time since they've left Elodie's room. He gives Eponine a quick kiss on her forehead before the stoplight turns green. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," she whispers, feeling suddenly warmer and lighter than before. She grips his hand before he can steer the car towards the main highway. "Can we go to your place tonight?"

"It's a mess. Are you sure?" he asks.

"Your mess is my idea of order," she scoffs. "Besides I think you need the rest and you won't get it by driving me to my place and then back."

"How will you get home?"

"It's not going to be the first time I've stayed over at your apartment. Gavroche would appreciate the quiet at my place too, for once."

He sighs and relents when she squeezes his arm again. "You're unbelievable."

"I thought I was amazing?" she jokes.

"That too." They turn right on another road, the one leading to his apartment just a short drive from the Saint-Michel area. In a few minutes they are at his place, and as soon as Enjolras opens the door for them, she pulls him in and sets him down on the sofa. "Don't move. I've got this," she says before kissing his lips.

"I should take a shower," he points out.

"Okay then, but don't disturb me in the kitchen. It's supposed to be a surprise," she calls over her shoulder as she sets down her work bag and goes off to survey his cupboards. She laughs when she hears him grumble a little before going off to shower; he's always too curious about whatever she is cooking up, particularly if he does not see her working from a recipe. '_He still needs to learn to improvise there,' _she decides amusedly as she brings out some sliced bread, tomato paste, canned mushrooms, salami, bell peppers, and even a jar of black olives. She decides to cut the crusts off the bread and make the rest of the ingredients into a sort of ragout topping. '_Now for some cheese', _she thinks, and much to her relief there is still some in the refrigerator, left over from one culinary experiment that Bossuet and Grantaire attempted a few days ago. She carefully layers the cheese and the ragout on the bread before putting everything under the grill, where it only takes a few minutes till the cheese is melted and the bread sufficiently hot.

It is just as well since as she is putting these homemade pizzas on a plate, she hears Enjolras trying to sneak into the kitchen. "What did I just tell you?" she teases.

"I could _smell_ that," he argues as he goes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. She squirms and swats at his hands teasingly before he kisses the top of her head. "I didn't know I still had olives in the storage," he mumbles in her hair.

"You were saving them for a rainy day that wasn't coming," she replies, looking up at him. "I'll make some coffee for us first."

"That's my job now," he insists. "Only fair since you cooked."

She rolls her eyes but acquiesces anyway, letting him set up the coffee machine while she brings their dinner to the living room and sets the coffee table, taking care to keep his papers to one side where they will not get splattered by food or drink. It surprises her how easily this is all coming, but yet it seems so natural, so right to look out for Enjolras in this way. '_And him for me too,' _she realizes, feeling oddly delighted and a little apprehensive at this thought.

Eponine knows that she has never been this way before, not even with Combeferre during the best days of their relationship. She sits on the sofa and shuts her eyes as she remembers Elodie's question of several days ago. '_He does know, does he?' _she wonders. Why else would they be in this apartment, with her so bent on taking care of him the night before one of the touchiest cases of his career?

The comforting aroma of brewed coffee soon banishes these apprehensions from her mind, more so when she sees Enjolras emerge shortly after with two large mugs. "Hope I didn't take too long?" he enquires as he sets down the mugs next to the pizza.

"The pizza is too hot," she says, indicating the still steaming platter.

"So is the coffee," he admits. He scoots up to her, resting his chin on her shoulder while she begins running her hands through his hair. "I hope I've prepared enough for tomorrow," he says after a while as he relaxes under her touch.

"I'm sure you have," she whispers, kissing his jaw. "Unless you want me to help go over arguments?"

"Maybe later," he says. He raises his head to look at her. "Thank you, Eponine."

She kisses his lips gently. "Anytime, Auguste." There's no one else in the world she wants to do this for, and if that isn't love yet, she figures it's slowly getting there.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!_

**The Science of Reckoning**

_I_

It's not often that Feuilly has occasion to 'go smart casual', which in his definition means putting on a shirt with a collar and closed toed shoes. '_All of a sudden though this feels like being overdressed in a hospital drama,' _he notes as he makes his way through the out-patient department of the Saint-Michel Hospital. It is not even eight in the morning, but the waiting rooms and corridors of the OPD complex have all been transformed into long, snaky queues of patients and their companions all listening avidly to be called into the various clinics. The sudden downpour outside doesn't help matters very much, and many of the newcomers peel off raincoats or toss aside umbrellas to reveal the fact that their clothes are soaked and muddied. In fact a number of patients, particularly the very young or the elderly, are still in their pajamas. '_A fact that would faze some,' _Feuilly can't help but notice when he sees a troop of medical students recoil when a man covered with sores limps into a nearby dermatology clinic.

He arrives at the trauma surgery clinic in time to see Eponine setting her tote bag on her desk. "Good morning. Is it too early for a courtesy call?" he greets politely.

She makes a show of checking her watch before motioning for Feuilly to take a seat. "If you mentioned it five minutes ago, yes. Though it's not early since you did want to contact me last night."

"I didn't want to intrude on you and the Chief," Feuilly says. "So you two just hung out?"

Eponine laughs at this nickname for her partner. "At least till we both decided to get some sleep. We can't have him drowsy at the trial later."

'_Good thing that Enjolras finally has someone looking out for him,' _Feuilly thinks. More interestingly, it seems as if Enjolras is returning the favor, if the large sandwich that Eponine puts to one side of her desk is any indicator. "Hopefully Courfeyrac got some rest too," he muses aloud.

"That's my sister's lookout," Eponine says. She glances about as if to make sure that no one is eavesdropping. "This feels almost ridiculous. I understand these formalities when working with other offices, but when it's you guys at the human rights commission, that's another thing."

"Is familiarity breeding contempt?" Feuilly asks.

"I think a 'state of amused wariness' is more likely," Eponine replies. "Are Bossuet and Bahorel also joining us?"

Feuilly shakes his head. "They are interviewing a witness for a new case. Sadly it might end up here in your office."

"Story of life here in Saint-Michel. Apparently this is a high-traffic hospital, so the stats say. I know this is one of three big general hospitals in this city, but this has a crazy case load." She pauses to bring a paper out of her work tote. "This is a primer about this new office. There's also a directory. I haven't met everyone yet, so I guess that's going to be part of my work for the next few days."

Feuilly carefully looks over the list of contacts from various social welfare agencies, law offices, and even law enforcement units. He can't say he likes all the individuals concerned; some of them are part of the reason his community work is so hard to begin with, but nevertheless a crusade is a crusade. "So how will our coordination system here work?"

"Both ways: if this hospital gets a patient who is suspected to be a victim of abuse, neglect, or some human rights violation, we get to coordinate with you on the legal handling and representation. Likewise, you can get our expert opinions as well for some cases," Eponine explains. "Being an ordinary witness though is another story especially given the rules on privileged communications and disclosure."

Feuilly sighs, knowing that this is the very reason that Eponine has not been subpoenaed as a witness in the Chenier case. '_Every nerve of her wants to fight harder for that girl,' _he notes; he knows that feeling all too well and he sees it clearly in the way Eponine's fists clench at times when the Chenier case is brought up. This is one of the times he is glad not to be in the positions that she, Enjolras, and Courfeyrac are with regard to this case.

His reverie is interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, which is something that only happens when it's an emergency. He excuses himself and goes into a corner of the office. "Hello Chief. What's happening?" he greets.

"A lot. Where are you, Feuilly?" Enjolras asks calmly.

"Saint Michel."

"Have you got a vehicle?"

"My motorbike," Feuilly says. He frowns at the continued drumming of rain on the roof; he definitely does not want to go out in this weather. "Where should I be?"

"Avenue 54 bus stop. There is a pick-up you have to make there," Enjolras replies. "Within the hour, I think. If he's not there in an hour and five, call me."

Feuilly feels something sinking in his gut, for he knows already who is waiting at that location. "Then where to after?"

"The commission office. Don't stop by Saint-Michel unless it's necessary," Enjolras replies. "I'll call Combeferre and ask him to take care of the Duponds."

"Alright," Feuilly says, relieved that at least Enjolras has this part covered. "Do you want to speak with Eponine? I'm in her office right now."

"I'll call her. Thanks for this. Keep your eyes on the road," Enjolras says before hanging up.

When Feuilly looks at Eponine, she's already got her phone out and she's about to press on the speed dial. "You'd better scoot. It sounds urgent if Enjolras is calling."

Feuilly nods, knowing better than to speak too openly about this problem. He's certain that Eponine is privy to some of it anyway, but he still doesn't want the rest of the OPD crowd knowing about it. "Could you please keep Bed 8 at the ER open?" he asks. "This might get bad."

"I'll keep the staff posted. Update me," Eponine agrees. "And don't forget your helmet!"

"Yes Ma'am," Feuilly says, saluting before he leaves the room. He's only thankful that he didn't park his bike too far from the OPD entrance, and he hopes that this little difference will help him save a life in the nick of time.

The road is so slick and slippery, such that Feuilly does not dare to drive too fast or take some of his accustomed shortcuts. The raging downpour does not do any favors for visibility, and for a moment Feuilly fears he may even miss this familiar bus stop. However there is no mistaking the sight of a man darting out of the bus stop, fleeing from two others.

He knows that these men may have guns. He knows that today, he is unarmed. He knows that the road is a peril in itself, but Feuilly slams his feet hard enough on the gas pedal of his bike, making the engine roar dangerously as he veers sharply to place his vehicle between Javert and his pursuers.

"Go!" he shouts to the former inspector. He knows that Javert will not go far, and maybe will even fetch some help. However that's a few minutes away, and even so the older man needs every spare second that he can get.

Feuilly grits his teeth as he grips the handlebars of his motorcycle, readying to drive faster than he's ever done in his life.

_II_

When it rains, Fantine brings her potted plants indoors. '_Too much water can be a bad thing,' _she thinks as she straightens up from hauling in a rosebush into the kitchen, and then wipes her muddied hands on a dish towel. It isn't just true for plants, but more so for people. She should know, after once having spent half the rainy season with her ankles deep in stagnant water.

As she's scrubbing the dirt out from under her fingernails she hears footsteps coming in from the garage. "The repairs to the roof are holding up," Jean Valjean says as he also picks up a wet cloth to clean his hands of grease. "That's less to clean up after the storm."

Fantine sighs with relief as she hands the liquid soap to him. Inasmuch as she doesn't mind cleaning up and setting things in order, it is always a great relief to have someone helping her out. '_Someone who can stop a mess before it happens,' _she thinks. She's met a lot of men who have fancied themselves as troubleshooters, but Jean Valjean goes more than a few steps beyond that.

Jean Valjean smiles knowingly when he notices the large potted plant nearest the sink. Perhaps he is already thinking of where in the garden it can be permanently planted once it gets too big for its present receptacle. "What's your next project?" he asks.

"Bonsai," Fantine replies. She's been reading about it, and she's always liked the idea of loftiness put in such a small form. "I just need to find the right seedling."

"Doesn't that take a while to train?"

"It's a challenge."

"A real labor of patience," he concurs.

'_More than patience,' _she thinks. She enjoys bringing these signs of life into their yard and into the halls of their home, Jean Valjean's office, and even the foundation house that they run. She likes to think that the sight of fresh flowers and lush greenery give hope to their neighbours. Of course it's messy and in some ways not as practical as sewing, but it is infinitely satisfying especially to a woman who has sworn never to pick up a needle again if she can help it.

Suddenly she hears the kitchen door swing open. "Maman? Papa? Are you busy?" Cosette asks.

"Of course not," Jean Valjean replies cheerily. "Were you about to go out in this weather?"

"To the courthouse-to watch the trial, not to get married!" Cosette replies. Indeed she is dressed a little more formally than usual, with a blazer over a tailored dress. "I'll drive there."

"No, let me," Jean Valjean volunteers. "It's raining too hard."

"I'll take the van. I'm good with it," Cosette insists. She wrings her hands before looking at her parents again. "That's not what I want to ask you about though."

"What is it, darling?" Fantine asks. There is something very serious about Cosette's countenance, even for someone so notably pensive. "It's nothing bad?"

"I don't think so," Cosette says. She takes a deep breath and smiles. "I know you've been looking for a guardian for Elodie, and so far no one's come up to the social worker's standards. I was hoping that I could be the one to take her in instead."

"You mean for a few days, once she is discharged from the hospital?" Fantine asks, seeing that Jean Valjean has gone pale. That may be necessary, though Fantine worries how the child will hold up with such a transition.

"No, as a permanent guardian," Cosette says a little more cautiously. "I know how to care for a child in her condition, and I have the time for it too. I've had a bit saved too and a stable job, so I do have some financial capability," she adds.

"Cosette, must you?" Fantine blurts out. At that moment Fantine is not sure if she should be proud of her child or fearful for her. Sometimes, just sometimes, Cosette loves too much for her own good. '_She's really my daughter in that way,' _she realizes.

Cosette leans against the kitchen bench. "It has to be someone who Elodie knows and who also cares about her. I know that Eponine and Enjolras would do it in a heartbeat, but they can't since there are rules about the case. Those rules don't apply to me though."

"You're so young!" Fantine insists, only to instantly regret the words when Cosette gives her a surprised look. '_I was even younger when I had her,' _she reminds herself. She looks beseechingly at Jean Valjean. "What do you think?"

"In the end it's Mrs. Plutarque's decision who'll be on the short list that the court will review. She's the social worker, and all that the rest of us can do is give recommendations," Jean Valjean replies after a few long moments. "Taking care of a child, especially one with Elodie's needs, is a full-time job in itself."

"You two taught me well," Cosette answers.

The full confidence in Cosette's voice is enough to bring tears to Fantine's eyes. She's always feared that Cosette would resent her especially for all the hardships of their earliest years together, but somehow that darkness seems to have no grip on this young woman's soul. '_And she won't be doing this alone,' _she realizes.

Jean Valjean clears his throat. "Does Marius know?"

Cosette nods. "We talked about this. It's good since he's Elodie's neurologist, so he knows just how to help. He's all in."

Fantine can see all too well past the blush creeping up on Cosette's cheeks. Clearly this has been on her daughter's mind for quite a while. '_Is she already imagining a life with Marius?' _she wonders. The sense of déjà vu is unsettling; didn't Fantine once imagine that very sort of thing too with a man who also promised her 'forever'? '_But Marius hasn't promised anything yet to Cosette,' _she reminds herself.

Jean Valjean crosses the kitchen to the basket where they all keep the car keys. "Fantine, what do you think?" he asks.

Fantine takes a deep breath, now wishing that he didn't leave this up to her. She knows he does this because he still believes that she knows Cosette best. If she is to be honest, she is not sure if she still has that position, or if it's now filled by Marius, Eponine, and Musichetta. "It's worth a try," she finally says.

Cosette lets out a visible sigh of relief. "Thank you Maman." She fishes through her purse for her phone. "Are you sure you don't want to watch the trial too?" she asks.

Fantine shakes her head. "I'll be fine. Tell me more about it later." She's not sure she can sit peacefully in the gallery, not when she knows the talk will open up the Pandora's box she's tried to keep hidden for all these years.

_III_

"Haven't seen you bring one of those in a while."

"That is because you haven't had a working lunch in some time, Courfeyrac."

Courfeyrac frowns with distaste at the idea of spending yet another hour cooped up in the courthouse anterooms, at least till he sees the half-baguette that Enjolras is unwrapping. "When did you find the time to make _that_?" he asks. On most days, Enjolras' idea of a sandwich is a thin layer of peanut butter on dry toast, but there have been some occasions when he's come up with a lunch that outdoes the selections from the best delis in their area. "Where is the other half of that?" Courfeyrac asks, indicating the baguette's cut edge.

"It's in another sandwich," Enjolras deadpans even as he brings out his phone. He wipes his mouth before taking the call. "Feuilly? Ah that's good. No injuries-sorry to hear about the ankle. At least Combeferre is on duty today, I heard. So he's at the witness protection house already? Good. Thank you very much. Courfeyrac and I will meet with you guys later. Good luck." He is visibly relieved as he pockets his phone. "Feuilly put Mr. Javert into the witness protection bureau's care," he explains.

Courfeyrac smiles, for that's one victory for today, however small. "I still can't believe you let him go out in the rain, on a bike, to pick up _that_ fellow." He's not one to hold grudges, but he finds it difficult to completely forget the former inspector's shabby treatment of the Thenardier siblings and Enjolras during the uprising. '_To think he isn't the only one of his kind,' _he notes ruefully.

"They live to fight another day," Enjolras notes at length. "Feuilly busted his ankle though, so I also owe him one there."

Courfeyrac winces, knowing how their friend will dislike the temporarily reduced mobility. "So he went to Saint-Michel to get it checked out?"

"Combeferre is taking care of him even as we speak," Enjolras replies. "Are you sure about this plan, or rather, a lack thereof?"

"Yeah. Not about to argue this time. You probably get why," Courfeyrac replies.

Enjolras glances at the clock on the wall. "You need to be back here in an hour and a half."

"No problem with that," Courfeyrac says as he gets his car keys and checks his wallet to make sure that he's got enough money on him to pay for two. '_The trattoria is just ten blocks away,' _he decides. He'd gladly jog that distance if not for two things: it's still raining hard, and also because Azelma intends to go back with him to watch the trial since classes have been called off thanks to the weather and she's already managed to send her students home.

As he's parking outside the _Trattoria Medici_, he catches sight of Azelma already seated at a table for two, carefully perusing the menu. At just under nine weeks along, she's quite a good way from having her pregnancy show, but Courfeyrac can pick up on the smaller differences such as the way she is more careful about moving, or even the swell of her breasts under her lilac dress. '_I don't blame her after we had a close call,' _he thinks, remembering the night at the inn. Yet what hasn't changed is the impish smile that spreads on her face when she sees him, and more so when she pulls him to her so she can give him a deep and sloppy kiss.

"Wow, Zelma, I'm not even sure that was PG-13 rated anymore," he jokes when they come up for air.

"That's all for now. Ask me more about it later," Azelma replies, swatting his cheek playfully before they take their seats. "So what do you want to order?"

Before Courfeyrac can answer he happens to glance out the window to where an immaculately polished dark blue Mercedes Benz was pulling up to the curb. He grabs the menu and puts it up as a sort of shield. "What do you recommend?" he asks.

"I've never been here before, so I wouldn't know," Azelma hisses.

"Enjoying your lunchbreak, Mr. Courfeyrac?" Atty. Chenier greets as he walks up to the young couple's table. "You must be Mrs. Courfeyrac. A pleasure to meet you," he adds as he notices Azelma.

"I'm not about to take my chances with the courthouse cafeteria," Courfeyrac answers cordially. He feels Azelma grab his hand and he pats her palm lightly. "You're here in the neighbourhood early."

Atty. Chenier grunts. "It's not too late to do something about the case." He brings a small rectangular paper out of a briefcase. "What will it take to make you drop the charges?"

Courfeyrac's eyes go wide as he realizes what his opponent is handing to him. This is different from the time that he tried making a settlement with the office; this is more definitive. '_It's enough to solve everything,' _he realizes. With that amount of money, he and Azelma can pay off their debts, get a larger place to live in, and still have some left for when their baby is born. He does not want to look at Azelma now, though he is certain that she is also mulling over these things too. '_Come on, try to be professional now!' _he chides himself even as he tries to remember Elodie in her hospital room, everything that his friends have done to save this girl, the fact that the Cheniers have tried this trick before, and of course the very fact that there is a _just_ thing to do about this horrible situation.

It is Azelma who breaks the silence. "It is a little late. You can't just get him to change his mind like that." Her eyes are dark with suspicion as she regards the older lawyer. "What makes you think that he'll even say yes to it?"

"You are aware that he's taken on this case _pro bono_. It's an enormous drain on your finances," Atty. Chenier replies haughtily. "You're a schoolteacher. Surely you are a practical woman."

"I've had kids like your daughter in my class," Azelma retorts as she tosses the menu aside. "They deserve better than parents like you."

Atty. Chenier's eyes narrowed at her. "Some civility, please."

"Yes, and you can grant us that by leaving us alone," Courfeyrac says more sternly. He's not about to let this man bully Azelma by reminding her of their present financial difficulties, or even by dredging up the past. "Please go," he adds, gesturing to the door.

Atty. Chenier gives him a venomous look. "I had hoped to find you more reasonable than your friends. I'll see you all in court, Mr. Courfeyrac."

"He'd better not be late then," Courfeyrac mutters as he watches Atty. Chenier leave. Even as he says this, he's sure he's lost his appetite. "I'm sorry about that, Zelma," he tells his wife.

Azelma shrugs. "Are you sure Elodie isn't adopted? How can a kid that sweet come from his genes?"

"Guess there's something to be said for innocence," Courfeyrac says. It's an interesting thought that he mulls over for the remaining hour, till he and Azelma make their way back to the courthouse.

They find Enjolras still there conferring with Feuilly. The latter has a bandage wrapped around his ankle and his hair is still wet, but otherwise he doesn't look much worse for wear. "Heard you had quite a ride," Courfeyrac greets Feuilly.

"Tell me about it," Feuilly says with a grimace. "Me versus two thugs. Good thing I refuelled my motorcycle last night."

Enjolras claps Feuilly on the shoulder before looking to Courfeyrac. "Cosette is considering becoming Elodie's guardian," he announces.

Courfeyrac's jaw drops with surprise. Why didn't he and his friends ever ask her before? "That's wonderful," he says. "Mrs. Plutarque will surely agree with this."

"Ultimately it's the court's decision," Enjolras says. "Hopefully it will work out."

Courfeyrac manages a smile. He knows that Cosette will do a terrific job caring for Elodie, particularly if Marius is involved. '_Will Elodie be amenable to it though?' _he wonders as he and Enjolras bid goodbye to Feuilly before making their way to the main courtroom. He notices how set Enjolras' jaw is as they take their seats. "Did Mr. Chenier try to talk to you too?" he asks discreetly.

"Understatement," Enjolras replies. He grits his teeth as he glances towards the Cheniers and their legal counsel. "Attorney Chenier has more to lose than custody of his only child. If the lawyers' association puts its mind to it, he can get suspended or disbarred," he adds in an undertone just as the judge calls the court to order.

The first witness to be called for the prosecution is one of the Cheniers' neighbours, a nervous looking spinster by the name of Cassandra Earhart. She gives the impression of restlessly tottering in place as she swears to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, but she goes pale when her bespectacled eyes meet the Cheniers'. The judge clears his throat and nods to her and then to Enjolras. "You may begin your cross-examination, Attorney Enjolras."

Enjolras calmly steps up to the bar. "Good afternoon Your Honor. Good afternoon Miss Earhart." He stops a few paces away from the witness stand. "These are only a few simple questions, Miss Earhart. Just for the record, how long have you been occupying 21 Flame Tree Road?"

Miss Earhart's wrinkled face turns a pleasant shade of red. "Probably about twenty-seven years or so."

"And how long have you been acquainted with the Chenier family?"

"Ten years. I still remember the day they brought that little girl home from the hospital. Such a sweet little angel."

Courfeyrac can hear some of the spectators in the gallery and of course some of the defence counsel muttering at this witness' seemingly sentimental replies. '_Hold it together, Madam, please,' _he begs silently. He glances up towards the gallery, where he can see Azelma sitting with the Fauchelevents and Feuilly. Much to his distaste he notices also a man with a large camera avidly following the proceedings. '_There is a source of toilet paper,' _he thinks, now wondering what the dirty press will make of this trial.

He turns his attention back to where Enjolras is continuing to ask Miss Earhart more about the Chenier family. "How often did you interact with them?" he questions.

"Why, nearly every day, young man," the old woman says. "The little girl would come to my place for cookies, well she used to."

"Used to? Did Elodie ever stop?" Enjolras asks.

"Hmm, about a year ago. She was moving up in school," Miss Earhart says. "Though her other classmates still stopped by. I always thought she was busy doing something."

"Did you ever see Elodie interact with her parents?"

"Yes. It was no different from other kids with their parents. They'd get mad if she was out of line, but only just then."

"Did they ever yell at her?"

"Sometimes."

"What would they say to her?"

Miss Earhart frowns. "That she was a bad child. Well that was only when she was mischievous."

"I see. Did they ever strike her?" Enjolras asks more seriously.

"Only on the bum. Well except for one time across the face, but that was just because she was getting a little too loud."

Enjolras' eyes narrow even as murmurs start throughout the gallery. "Did you ever notice any bruises or wounds on Elodie?"

"On her arms and legs. But don't all children get them?" Miss Earhart replied.

"What about anywhere else?"

"Hm, once when she went swimming. But that was because she fell."

Enjolras steps closer to the witness stand. "Could you tell us then what happened on the afternoon of the sixth of May?"

The elderly woman grimaces. "I was baking some pies, and I thought that maybe the Cheniers would want an extra one I made. I always ask them first. Anyway I heard Mrs. Chenier leave first, followed by her husband. It wasn't a schoolday, so I thought that Elodie was with them or someone else, so I didn't think much of it for a little bit. But one of the kids, the Danton boy across the street, lost his ball in their yard. I went with him to get it, passing through the hole in the hedge, and suddenly he came running to me saying that he found Elodie in the garage and that she was bleeding, poor child!"

"What did you see in the garage?" Enjolras asks slowly.

"She was under their big Mercedes Benz, under one of those big front tires. Someone had put a handkerchief in her mouth to keep her quiet, I cannot imagine who!" Miss Earhart shudders quite visibly. "But there was no one else in the house, and it didn't look like someone had entered. The police said much the same too, I heard."

"Then what did you do?"

"I called for an ambulance, of course."

"Was anyone else with you?"

"No, just me and the boy. The Dantons have moved out of the neighbourhood since, I don't know why."

Enjolras takes a deep breath. "Tell me about Elodie's injuries. What did you see?"

"Well I saw that her arms and legs were at an odd angle. She was covered in blood, poor girl. She wasn't saying anything at first till I called her name, and then she wouldn't stop screaming."

"What was she screaming?"

Ms. Earhart frowns. "She didn't seem to be herself. She was asking her parents to stop something they were doing, she was saying that she was being a good girl."

Courfeyrac shuts his eyes, feeling sick at the scene that is now coming to mind. '_What sort of father would do that to his girl?' _he wonders as he glances towards the Cheniers, who are tight-lipped and disdainful as they listen to this questioning. It is all he can do to keep from looking back at Azelma up in the gallery. '_No, it's not simply about the right thing anymore,' _he realizes. It's about being a father, pure and simple, and that's something he finds more inviolable even more than the strictest letter of the law.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Sorry for the long time between updates! Trigger warning here for accidents and discussion of hospital mortalities. _

_Guest: Thanks much!_

**Demand And Admission**

_I_

"Using a seized gun is a refinement on the hired gun concept. Those are ballistics that will not be traced simply because eyes are already blind to them. They are already supposed to be buried in the system."

It's Javert's deadpan tone, more than the substance of his explanation, which sends a chill down Combeferre's spine. "That is too audacious," the doctor points out as he hands over the small bottle of vitamins. "Do they honestly think that no one will find out?"

"That is why our bureau of investigations rarely allows consulting detectives like your friend Bahorel on their cases," Javert replies. "I'd have him put in a safehouse too if I were you."

'_He'd consider it a cage,' _Combeferre thinks as he shakes his head. He would not dare suggest such isolation to his friend, not even if it would be lifesaving. One look at Javert is enough for him to know that he is somewhat of the same vein; in the two weeks he's been sequestered in a small apartment downtown, he's taken on a sort of languor that cannot be healthy. Yet Combeferre cannot decide if this is a better fate than the ones that Dupond and Enjolras have just narrowly escaped.

He wills himself to focus his attention back on his pensive patient, who is now beginning to pace the tiny studio apartment. "If you need anything more, or if there is an emergency, please feel free to call. Bossuet will come by tomorrow," he informs the former inspector. "That cough should clear up in a few days, I believe."

"These lungs aren't what they used to be," Javert says as he takes a seat. "There are no innocents in Transnonain. Dupond was also part of the cruelty too."

Combeferre nods. "We're all aware of that." As a doctor it's not his place to judge what his patients do and do not do, but as a philosopher he cannot help but come to the conclusion that all humans give in to the Id if it is properly fed by external brutality or privation. It always comes down to a question of limits, and whether they are absolute. "Nevertheless we do as we must, for justice's sake."

"Of course." Javert weighs the bottle of vitamins in his hands again. "Give my regards to your friends. I thank you for your assistance."

"You're welcome," Combeferre says cordially as he gathers up his things and shrugs on his coat. He waits two minutes before quitting Javert's apartment and making his way down to the small convenience store that he and Enjolras have chosen as a stake-out point and rendezvous. He breathes a sigh of relief when he catches sight of his friend sipping a cup of instant coffee while looking through notes on a tablet. "He's in the clear," he says by way of greeting as he takes a seat.

Enjolras smiles briefly as he looks up from the tablet. "That's good. So it really is just a cold?"

"Nothing that will have him laid up," Combeferre says. He frowns when he sees that the notes that Enjolras is reviewing are none other than Dupond's deposition prior to his injury. "That's as good as a dead end, Auguste."

"Not if we can extract anything more," Enjolras replies, pointing to a terribly blank spot on the screen, where some vital bit of information probably ought to be. "Is there no way of properly communicating with Dupond in his state?"

"I told you his GCS score is eleven. He's just a few steps above from being comatose," Combeferre explains. He already fears that despite everything that he and Marius do for their patient that Dupond will be aphasic for much of his life. "It is possible that he can in time come up with some system of communication, but it will not be easy to tell if his memory is intact."

"How long will that take?"

"With all honesty, I will have to say that I do not know."

Enjolras grits his teeth with unmitigated frustration. "The trial is slated for three weeks from now. It may even have to be held out of town since the case was originally not filed in this district. It may even be safer that way. If so, I will have to make arrangements for Javert and the other witnesses."

"What of the Chenier case?" Combeferre asks.

"The jury may hand down its decision in a few days, or in two weeks at most." Enjolras looks through the calendar on his phone. "After that will be the custody hearings. We're only just beginning this fight."

"Does Eponine know?" Combeferre clucks his tongue when he sees Enjolras raise an eyebrow. "About you having to be away," he clarifies.

"It's not a certainty," the lawyer points out. He drains what must be about half of his coffee before turning off his tablet. "She'll be fine."

Combeferre nods slowly, amazed at the confidence in his friend's tone. If this had been any one of his other friends, he might throw in a line or two about complacency when dealing with one's partner. Yet this is Enjolras dealing with Eponine, something that Combeferre had once thought he would never see. '_Well I'll be darned,' _he catches himself thinking. "You're pretty serious."

"About?"

"Her."

Enjolras takes another sip of his drink. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"She's extraordinary."

"I'm still surprised you hardly mentioned having a girlfriend, and you never named her, when you were still together in medical school."

"We had our hang-ups then," Combeferre replies. Enjolras had been a bit of a stranger during those years, and definitely uninterested in any talk of romances in their circle of friends. '_Not to mention that Eponine told me to keep things low key and off the radar,' _he recalls a little ruefully. While he's always been proud of Eponine, he now finds himself wondering why he hadn't let the rest of the world know of this fact. It's ironic now to see this sort of admiration and pride coming from the one person they both know to be so difficult to move. "We've all come a long way, thankfully."

Enjolras is silent a little longer as he finishes the remainder of his coffee. "She did far more than just save my life."

"Thankfully everyone knows that," Combeferre agrees as he checks his watch. It's almost one in the afternoon, and high time that he and Enjolras returned to the neighbourhood of Saint-Michel. '_This would be so much easier if we weren't commuting,' _he thinks but even so he knows that they have to take public transport as a matter of safety in numbers. The case seems too ripe for something like a road accident to occur.

They are five blocks away from their destination when they first hear the ambulance sirens. Enjolras grits his teeth as one ambulance nearly crashes into a post when rounding a corner. "Sounds like you have your work cut out for you," he deadpans.

"Tell me about it," Combeferre says as they begin walking faster. He whistles when he sees Eponine walking briskly out of a small ground floor office and crossing the crowded lobby towards them. "I told you I wouldn't be out of post."

"Good then, since you're right on time," Eponine replies. "We have an MVA. In this case it means _multiple_ vehicular accident. Bus meets van, meets motorcycle and several other pedestrians."

Combeferre winces even before he hears a piercing scream from the emergency room. "Everyone is scrubbing in?"

"Damn straight," Eponine whispers. However she still manages to smile when she sees Enjolras. "Thanks for bringing him back on time, Auguste. Good luck with the hearing later."

Enjolras nods by way of understanding. "Will you need a lift later?"

"I'll call you!" she calls over her shoulder as she grabs Combeferre's arm to drag him to the trauma section. The chaos of the lobby is nothing compared to the hullabaloo of the emergency room, with nurses, aides, and medical technologists running hither and thither, yelling to each other over the beeping of alarms. A few stop to take the time to reassure frantic and sobbing relatives, which is only a small comfort in this frenetic scene.

Combeferre spots a wailing man next to the trauma room. "Save my father! I don't care what it takes, Doc, I'll do anything!" he yells when he sees Combeferre.

"We'll do our best, Mr-"

"Warren. Aaron Warren."

Combefere nods before donning a pair of gloves and a mask, and then backing into the trauma room. He knows even before stepping close to the gurney that he is up against nearly impossible odds, for mangled flesh and broken bone can only do so much to hold lifeblood. '_I'm a man of my word though,' _he reminds himself as he begins setting out the necessary sutures, antiseptic, and bandages. He glances around and notices one of the young interns practically pelting across the emergency room. "Kate, I need an extra hand here!" he calls, if only to stop this kid from careening right into the wall.

The intern nearly trips over her feet at the sound of Combeferre's voice. She has to shake her dark hair out of her face before rushing into the trauma cubicle. "I heard he was the guy on the motorcycle," she says breathlessly. She blanches when she sees this man's bloodied shin. "Is that-"

"Open fracture, class IIIb," Combeferre replies. '_Class IIIc if he is unlucky,' _he realizes. This is the sort of injury wherein amputation is often necessary to save the person's life, especially when contending with something as terrible as possible infection. '_A horrible but necessary loss of function,' _he tells himself as he begins stopping the bleeding from this patient's numerous wounds.

Suddenly someone yells "Code!" from the far end of the ER. Combeferre glances up just long enough to catch sight of the nurses wheeling a crash cart to the room's critical care area, where Eponine, Mabeuf, and Navet are hard at work trying to resuscitate a patient. The crimson stains pooling on the floor are telling enough of the dire outcome.

Combeferre sees his trainee go pale. "Do you want to sit down?" he asks.

She sighs with relief as she sags against the wall. "How do you get used to it?"

"You don't," Combeferre tells her flatly. "You just have to do what you can so you can rest easy with a clear conscience each night."

II

'_How I choose to raise my daughter shouldn't be the jurisdiction of this court!'_

Though these words are perfect legalese, they are still enough to have Enjolras gritting his teeth even hours after the latest hearing of the Chenier case. '_There is a man who will never be held accountable,' _he thinks with unmitigated disgust as he goes through his case files back in the quiet of his apartment. The impunity sickens him, almost as much as the Transnonain case. He shakes his head as he thinks back on Dupond, a father deprived now of the voice to speak to his own children. There is no limit to how cruel and ironic this world can be.

He looks up at the clock, which now reads ten in the evening, and rubs his temples. He cannot remember having dinner or even anything more than the five cups of coffee he's managed to down in as many hours. He takes a deep breath, now thankful for the fact that he is not prone to palpitations or tremors even after ingesting alarming amounts of caffeine. As he rubs his temples he hears a familiar tread approaching his doorway. "Whatever happened to calling?" he asks a little confusedly when he opens the door.

"I forgot," Eponine replies as she steps into the room. "I'm sure you prefer _this_ though."

"Definitely," he concurs as he closes the door. While he's a little surprised at her sudden visit, he is more than willing to admit that the mere sight of her does more for him than any of her text messages or hurried calls. It only gets better when he sees her bring a large burger out of her work tote. "Are you going to split that?"

She laughs out loud as she sits beside him on the sofa. "No, I got it for you. I've already had something to eat."

"What's so funny then?" he asks as he begins unwrapping the sandwich.

"Just remembering," she replies as she crosses her legs.

"Do tell."

"Back in med school, there was this roadside diner that sold sandwiches, and big ones at that. Sometimes, if the guys saw someone buying a big sandwich, they'd ask 'Can we experience?' and then take a big bite out of it there and then!"

"Isn't that a little unbecoming?"

"It's how everyone got fed."

The story brings back Enjolras' own memories of his student days, when he, Courfeyrac, and the rest of their moot court team would literally empty their pockets of every coin just to be able to afford a small pie or a half-sized pizza during training sessions. "What about disease risks?"

"Better than hypoglycaemia. _That_ can be lethal," she reminds him before getting up and crossing to the kitchenette. "What do you want: lemonade or apple juice?"

"Apple. Thanks," he calls over his shoulder as he gets up to fetch a blanket and some pillows. It pretty much goes without saying that she'll spend the night there again, and though he figures that neither of them is particularly averse to sharing his bed, he'd still like to give her the option of the sofa anyway. When they both get back to the sofa, she immediately curls up in his lap, thus answering the question perfectly. He carefully covers them both with the blanket, prompting her to snuggle even closer such that he can rest his chin on her shoulder.

She sighs before handing him one bottle of apple juice and then opening another for herself. "That accident was completely senseless. Another speeding case," she says after a while.

He drains his drink and sets the bottle aside. "I take that there were mortalities?" he asks as he begins trailing his fingers along the line of her spine, delighting in the way she still leans into his touch.

"Five dead on arrival or within an hour of getting to the ER, and then two more within the next hour. One of them passed away on my operating room table." She is quiet for a while as she drains half of her bottle of juice. "I wish I'd been there sooner. Those few minutes might have mattered."

"Eponine, there are only _two_ full time trauma surgeons at Saint Michel: you and Combeferre. You did what you could," he reminds her. Of course he knows that she hears this all the time from everyone else, but this is one occasion wherein he hopes that she will actually take these words to heart.

She manages a smile even as she clasps his hands tightly. "That's comforting, somewhat."

"I mean it," he says. It's more than just the fact that she saved him from near certain death not too long ago; the truth is that he is in awe of how she can still remain so caring and fearless despite the daunting odds in her work, both in and out of the operating room. "No one else has your fire."

"That's big, coming from you." She twists to face him properly. "Really big."

He takes a deep breath, knowing that they can throw around these sorts of words all night, but he has had enough of being circumspect. "I love you." He sees her eyes widen, but since she's not making any move to get away from him, he decides to continue. "I know it hasn't been that long and some couples are together for years before this even comes up. You deserve better though."

She looks at him for a long time, as if she is trying to figure out how to best answer him. "How long have you had these feelings for me?"

"It's more than just feelings," he says, now afraid that she will just brush this off, or worse, walk out the door. He finds himself grabbing her hand once more. "Things aren't easy between us, but that doesn't change things or my decision. It never will."

She nods slowly and brings up their joined hands so that she can clasp his cheek. The feel of her callused hands on his skin is like touching fire, but of the sort that compels him to lean towards her. "I was wondering for a while if this was always going to be a one way street," she whispers as she touches her forehead to his.

"Not with you, ever," he admits. Just to get the point across he brushes his lips against hers, giving her the chance to kiss him back if she so wishes. She whispers his name against his mouth before bringing up her hands to cradle his head as she deepens the kiss. The feel of her lips on his and her hands on his scalp and running down to her shoulders are intoxicating and more sensual than ever, but he finds himself alert and certain in a completely new way.

And yet it is at that moment that they both hear knocking on the apartment door. "Why now?" Eponine whispers as she squeezes his shoulders.

"It might be important," he reminds her. "I mean there's got to be a reason-"

"Auguste! We know you're in there!" a man's gruff voice calls. "Your umbrella is outside."

The very sound is enough to make Enjolras' spirits sink, but he hides his grimace by burying his face in Eponine's hair and giving her a kiss on her ear before manuevering her so she is sitting on the sofa while he gets to his feet. '_A fine time to drop in for a visit,' _he thinks as he straightens out his clothes before crossing to take a look at the peephole. He has to keep a straight face on seeing who is waiting for him outside. "Good evening Father. Good evening, Mother," he says cordially as he opens the door.

"It's been a while, Auguste," his mother says. She is the unchanged one of his parents; his father is thinner and grimmer now, but his mother has that charming smile that soon gives way to haughtiness the moment she begins to speak. "How have you been doing?"

"Fine enough," he replies.

"I hear you're recovering well from your injuries," his father says.

It is all that Enjolras can do to keep his tone cordial. "Those were _months_ ago." Of course they wouldn't really know; neither of them came to visit him even when it came out on local news that he'd gotten shot at the rally. "I have company now, but you can come in if you like," he says.

"Yes, we can see that Dr. Thenardier is with you," his mother says, now sounding scornful. "As to coming in, well it depends how much you and your father have to discuss."

Enjolras' hand tightens on the knob. "What about?"

His father looks him in the eye, his expression now one of cold confidence. "You will drop the Transnonian case. Immediately."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews! _

_Guest: Thanks once more! Glad you're enjoying this!_

_Guest: Yes, really. The name is a one-off gag though_

**Write Us a Fairytale**

_I_

Eponine had known for some time that meeting her partner's parents was inevitable. In fact she does know their given names: Claude and Ari, all thanks to stories and the times she's seen Enjolras fill up forms. It does not matter that she cannot imagine his meeting _her_ parents in the foreseeable feature. '_Though of course knowing my luck it has to happen like this,' _she muses ruefully as she discreetly straightens out her clothes and her hair.

She bites her lip as she listens to Enjolras remonstrating with his parents. Now she can see, with a clarity she owes to her ongoing training, the distance that is even larger than the gap of the doorway. _'There is a resemblance but nothing of the heart,' _she realizes as she gets to her feet. Ice blue eyes, golden hair, classically shaped nose broad shoulders, perfect posture-it's all there in the faces of his parents, but there is nothing of the charm, warmth, or even conviction that run through every fibre of his being.

"You clearly do not understand the gravity of this situation, Auguste," Claude snarls, now crossing his arms. "The shareholders of the Transnonian estates have influence in the chambers of commerce. You know how I stand there. I will not allow my stubborn son to ruin this."

"Your recent business affairs have nothing to do with my casework," Enjolras replies coolly, not even taking a step back from the door. "Their influence does not put them above the law, or excuse them from treating their tenants with decency."

The word 'decency' and the way Enjolras says it make Eponine flinch. Is there any other way for him to say it to the two people who should care for him most, but who have deliberately been incommunicado for months? She feels that cold weight in her chest, the way she does when she is absolutely certain that there is something wrong, or that she is now suddenly privy to some ongoing horror. '_Like with Elodie,' _she can't help thinking, even as she regrets that one time she was silent. Now she must be quiet once more, since this is Enjolras' battle to fight, not hers.

She is about to excuse herself to the bathroom or to the kitchen when she realizes that there is a pair of eyes keenly watching her every move. "Did you put him up to this?" Ari snaps.

"Not at all, Ma'am," Eponine replies calmly.

The older woman doesn't say anything but she surveys Eponine from head to toe. "You're very young for a surgeon," she finally concludes. "At which hospital do you aim to become a consultant?"

Eponine blinks at this question; not only is a consultancy as a trauma surgeon still far away from considering at her level of training, there are other directions away from this tried and tested path that she has been seriously considering. "Only at places with a good community medicine program."

"That is diverging from your field of expertise."

"Not all our work is in the operating room; it's sometimes in making sure people do not have to always go under the knife," Eponine replies.

"It is not lucrative. You ought to be more practical especially given your previous circumstances." Ari's face twists with displeasure as she once again looks over her son and Eponine. "Birds of a feather flock together indeed."

"They'll do what they will, Ari," Claude says, breaking off from his own argument. "You clearly have made it your life's mission to become a disappointment. Don't you have ambition? Oh yes, you do, Auguste, but you're throwing it away on your drunkard friends and these useless crusades of yours. We thought you were getting somewhere when you ran for office, but you just threw it out the window. When will you grow up?"

"You heard your father. It's about time you started acting like a responsible adult. We let you have your way by going to law school but that is going to change," Ari chimes in smugly. "It's not too late to let go of your cases-"

"I will not do such a thing," Enjolras cuts in. "In this matter, I am not obligated to either of you."

"To who then? The _people?" _Claude sneers, giving Eponine a particularly withering look. "Will they pick you up when you fail? You will be nothing, and then you will have to hear me say 'I told you so'." He smirks when he sees that his son is silent. "You have till tomorrow to officially drop it. Do not disappoint me or your mother."

Then just like that, they leave without saying as much as a 'goodbye' or even 'see you soon'. The door slams so hard that Eponine feels the urge to check if it is still anchored properly on its hinges, at least till she sees that Enjolras is gritting his teeth in that way he does when he is trying to bite back some words. "Auguste?" she asks tentatively.

He grips the doorknob tightly for a moment before stepping away. "It's nothing."

"Bullshit," she mutters under her breath. She knows all too well how his stoicism covers up how deeply he feels things. '_How long has this been going on?' _she wonders as she follows him back to the couch, taking one side while he settles on the other. Not surprisingly he simply grabs a case file and starts reading before she can ask him anything.

He shifts on the sofa before giving her a questioning look over the top of his paperwork. "You did not have to stay for that scene."

"It would have been bad manners to just walk out," she points out. '_Especially after what we were talking about,' _she almost says, but she settles for squeezing his knee. He is still so tense under her hand, and she cannot help but feel a frisson of worry.

He gives her a withering look. "It happens. We've always had our differences."

"You can't just ignore those."

"Can we not talk about this?"

The vitriol in his tone stings more than this single phrase ever could and she gets up from her seat. "Well excuse me for even trying to help," she calls over her shoulder as she stalks to the window, which is the furthest she can get from him without actually leaving the apartment. '_They're wrong. You've already proven them wrong,' _she wants to tell him, but now she sees that gulf once more, but now it is between her and him. It pains her to see him so hurt, but all the same there is nothing she can do for him if he does not wish for it.

"Eponine, I don't need to be psychoanalyzed," he says tersely. "I don't need someone sifting through my so called baggage."

"I'm not trying to do that!" she retorts as she turns to face him.

At these words he is back on his feet and swiftly walking towards her, stopping when he is but a step away. "Then what?"

"I just want to know what's going on."

"What good is that going to do?" he asks as he crosses his arms.

"Do you think I'm just going to let you take _that_?" Eponine answers. The more practical part of her mind is screaming that yes, she does not have the answers for this situation. She may be a surgeon and training to be a caseworker, but what does she know about healing memories? Yet she only has to look at him again and that fierce surge of protectiveness comes again, sweeping away all apprehensions as well as logical arguments. She closes the distance between them with a last step and grabs his hands firmly, entwining her fingers with his. "Not on my watch, Auguste."

Enjolras' eyes widen with surprise just for a moment but soon that intense look of concentration fills them, a sure sign that he is taking in her words and more. He kisses her forehead and sighs into her hair. "You already have much to deal with-"

"I want this," she insists before reaching up to kiss him. He returns her kiss with a vigor that is both desperate and passionate, such that she can feel herself losing her footing till he braces her with an arm over the small of her back. Somehow they make it back to the sofa, where they simply continue to kiss, hungrily taking in the sureness of each other's hands running through hair or down the lines of each other's backs. She breaks their kiss first for lack of air but she makes sure she is looking into his eyes before she speaks again. "And I'm staying."

"Are you sure?"

"Your life tangled with mine, vice versa. That's kind of where this is getting to, right?"

He drops a kiss on her neck, and the way he lingers there sends a rush of heat down to her very core, such that she presses her curves against the planes of his body. He smirks against her skin and rubs her wrists to calm her. "It's been that way for a while, Eponine," he says as he moves up so that they are face to face, the tips of their noses just barely touching.

Eponine grins widely before kissing him, glad that at last he's finally noticed.

_II_

Although Grantaire spends many of his daytime hours teaching art classes, he does not dare consider himself an educator in this field. "Merely an admirer and purveyor of the craft," he says when Cosette asks him about this while they and Marius are visiting Elodie the next morning.

The little eight year old girl's brow crinkles at this statement. "What's a purveyor?"

"One meaning is someone who likes talking about ideas or things," Grantaire explains. Actually 'to believe' is a more accurate way of putting it, but such solid hope does not take root in a man like him.

"It's not all talk in your case, Capital R," Cosette reminds him gently. "Papa framed that sketch you made for his birthday."

"Did he now?" Grantaire can feel pleasant warmth growing in his cheeks; he knows that Mr. Fauchelevent has some discerning tastes. "What does your mother think?"

"She adores it too, but not as much as the subject," Cosette laughs.

Marius nods knowingly. "You should think of having an exhibit or a gallery. It is a good investment."

"A white elephant," Grantaire points out. Perhaps he should have taken up Industrial Design so as to make art 'functional', but he loves working with a brush and a large expanse too much to settle on sketches and production line work. '_I could never do the Math anyway,' _he reflects ruefully. He suddenly sees Elodie reach over to her bedside table for a piece of paper and coloring pencils. "Are you going to draw them?" he asks, discreetly gesturing to Marius and Cosette, who have now gone to the window for some modicum of privacy.

"Not like that. It's gross," Elodie whispers, making a face when she sees the couple cuddling. She begins drawing two figures , clearly a man and a woman standing side by side, only that she's giving them fancier clothes than their real life counterparts.

"Cosette's sundress isn't cut that way," Grantaire points out.

"It's not a sundress, it's a princess dress," Elodie tells him flatly. "I'm also giving Doctor Marius some prince clothes."

Grantaire snorts when he sees that Elodie is drawing Marius with a fancy hat and cloak, like one of a young royal in an old movie. "Why are they a prince and princess?"

"She's pretty and he's nice," the girl simply says. "Besides she _acts_ like a princess since she's so nice and she has a wonderful Mama and Papa. Doctor Marius is brave too so _of course_ he is a prince!"

"Are they also from far, far away?" Grantaire teases. It is then that he catches sight of Elodie's other sketches, many of which involve castles on mountains, and people slaying dragons. He laughs when he recognizes himself as one of the knights slaying a particularly oversized flying dragon. "I'm not that brave, little Elodie."

"Mr. Jehan says you are, since you're always with him," Elodie says.

Grantaire blushes more at this second-hand compliment from his partner. "When did he say that?"

"The last time he was here. What did he mean?"

"Well because it's not always easy doing great things with Jehan, and he thinks that my being with him is a good thing."

"I think it is," Elodie insists as she brings out more sketches. One of them happens to depict several princesses in a ball. In this picture Musichetta, Azelma, Cosette, and a few other female acquaintances are distinctly recognizable. "What sorts of things?"

"I'll tell you someday," Grantaire says. He may have a broad sense of humor, to put it nicely, but he's sure his friends would give him trouble for corrupting Elodie's young mind. He searches the picture carefully and notices several startling details. "Aren't you in the picture?"

"I'm too little to be a princess," Elodie replies. "Princesses are pretty. I'm not," she adds, tapping her still short hair.

"You drew me as a knight, and look at my mug," Grantaire argues as he points to his face.

"That's different."

"I noticed you didn't draw Eponine too, as a princess."

"She says she's not a princess," Elodie says a little sadly. "But can you keep a secret, Mister Grantaire? I think she doesn't _know_ she's a princess."

"Why?"

"Because she isn't living in a palace, not yet. I think that Mister Enjolras is also a prince in disguise since he says he's not a prince either."

"Well not all the fairytales have everyone as a prince or princess," Grantaire says. Of course royalty is present in many a good popular story, but he finds them bland compared to the deities of his favourite Greek myths. '_Paling too, in the face of other heroes and heroines,' _he muses.

In the meantime Cosette has also noticed these sketches. "These are so pretty, Elodie!' she gushes.

Elodie mumbles an embarrassed 'thank you' before handing one sketch to Cosette. "Do you have a dress as pretty as this?" she asks.

"Someday I will," Cosette says, squeezing Elodie's shoulder. "What's your favourite fairy tale?"

Elodie pauses to think. "Rapunzel. I want hair as long as hers."

Grantaire grins, finding this comparison so apt, given that Elodie has spent so much time stuck in the confines of Saint Michel Hospital. Yet will she have a fate just as blissful once she can leave this tower?

Before he can say a word to this, a buzz comes from the intercom on the wall. "Is Dr. Thenardier around?" a voice asks from the nurse's station.

Marius goes over to press a button on the intercom. "She's not in now. Why?"

"She needs to sign Miss Chenier's case file," the nurse replies in a low voice. 'Her parents are here, asking to bring her home against medical advice."


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Thanks everyone! Trigger warnings here for lots of discussion of domestic abuse in its varying forms. _

_Just a Guest: They can, sadly. The scenario in question here is if the hospital can 'detain' the patient (for whatever reason), not child custody. There is no need for a judge to rule on this._

The case does involve murder and something about land. It's based on a real life case.

Enjolras' parents are not even characterized in canon; no one knows what they're like. But people generally presume that an only son with radical beliefs would butt heads with a (presumably) older and conservative generation. If you ask me though, it's also just as likely that his parents are as radical as he is, but it doesn't make good drama. I've tried the 'parents as supportive people' idea in another fic, but set in the canon era.

Grantaire with Jehan is not a usual pairing but I think it's cute.

Javert has a lot of surprises. He's mysterious in the prequel to this fic "Don't Mess With the Surgeon". 

**The Most Difficult Jobs on the Planet**

_I_

Even before the last crackle of the intercom fades into silence, Cosette already sees Marius heading to the door. "What are you doing?" she asks.

He gives her a smile that is both mysterious and at the same time determined. "I haven't signed out of the case either. This might take some time, Cosette," he says before walking out and leaving the door halfway open.

'_He's going to stall the Cheniers,' _Cosette realizes, and the surprised look that she sees spreading over Grantaire's face only confirms this notion. "I'll call Mrs. Plutarque and Eponine," she says. "I think you ought to call either Enjolras or Courfeyrac."

"Good idea," Grantaire says as he brings out his phone. He laughs mirthfully as he looks towards the door. "I like him more and more every day, Cosette."

"How can you _just_ like him?" Cosette quips. Of course Grantaire rolls his eyes at her romantic gushing, but honestly she can't care less. '_Say what you will about him, but Marius is still my knight in shining armor,' _she thinks as she searches her phone for the numbers she needs. Sometimes, especially in such a crowd of strong and abrasive personalities, it's easy to overlook Marius' quiet yet valiant ways. She smiles, sure that he's putting up quite the fight already, even though she and Grantaire have only just begun to work.

Her call to Mrs. Plutarque goes straight to voice mail, but thankfully Eponine picks up after only a couple of rings. "Hello, Ponine? You need to come up to the pedia ward right away," she greets.

"I know. I just got the call here in my office," Eponine replies tersely. "I'll be up in a while. Can you keep Elodie calm till we all get there?"

"Sure," Cosette says, even though she isn't sure who Eponine means by 'we'. Before she can clarify this, Eponine hangs up, which is just as well since when Cosette looks around she sees Elodie with a worried expression darkening her bright eyes. "It's going to be fine," she says as she sits next to the girl.

"Someone's coming, right?" Elodie asks anxiously. Her thin hands bunch up her blanket. "Is it _them_?"

The way Elodie says that single word nearly makes Cosette feel queasy, but she just has to take a deep breath even as she hears the argument growing steadily louder and beginning to echo throughout the corridor of the paediatrics wing. She feels Elodie squirm closer to her as a particularly harsh exclamation pierces the air, followed a moment later by the appearance of Attorney Chenier and Mrs. Chenier haranguing Marius as they all walk into the doorway.

"If you delay us any further, I'll have you all charged with kidnapping and illegal detention," Attorney Chenier threatens. He snaps his fingers at Elodie. "Get your things. We're going home now."

"But Papa-" Elodie protests.

"Elodie, be a good girl and do as your father says," Mrs. Chenier says. She frowns at all the drawings and books around Elodie's bed. "You've been keeping too much junk around here."

"Be reasonable. She still can't walk about," Cosette argues. She can see Marius and Grantaire already discreetly moving so they can get between the Cheniers and the hospital bed if necessary, but she hopes to the high heavens that the situation will not come to that. "Maybe we should have this discussion elsewhere, not here-"

Yet it is at that moment that Elodie sits up in bed and looks to the doorway. "I don't want to go home! I'm not well yet!" she tells Eponine. "Please don't make me go home!"

"Don't be silly, you're perfectly well!" Attorney Chenier bellows.

"If she says she's not feeling well yet, we're just going to have to find out why," Eponine retorts firmly as she goes to Elodie's side. "Hello Elodie. How are you doing?" she asks.

The little girl immediately springs into Eponine's arms and holds on tightly, burying her face in Eponine's white coat. "Do I have to go home?" she sniffles.

Eponine sighs before rubbing Elodie's back and giving her a tissue to wipe her nose with. "It's going to be fine. I just need to talk to your parents for a little bit," she tells Elodie before setting her back down on the bed.

"We don't have time for anymore wrangling," Attorney Chenier barks. "Just sign her discharge papers and get it done with."

"It is not that simple," Eponine replies. "You will have to sign a waiver first. If you insist on having Elodie discharged against medical advice, this hospital and us physicians will not be responsible for any untoward consequences to her health or otherwise."

"You'll make us sign that after everything we've spent on her already?" Mrs. Chenier screeches. "We're not made of money and we certainly don't want you to palm off your jobs on us."

"Come on, we have to go," Attorney Chenier says. "Elodie, stop dawdling!"

"But I don't want to go!" Elodie sniffles.

"Then where will you go?" Mrs. Chenier asks. "You can't stay with them!"

Elodie's eyes are wide and her lip quivers as she looks first at her parents, and then at Eponine. "Do I _have_ to?" she whimpers.

It is just as well that Mrs. Plutarque and Courfeyrac soon enter the room, both of then looking as if they have run most of the way upstairs. "What is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Plutarque asks the Cheniers.

"It means, Madam, that we will no longer pay for Elodie's hospital stay," Attorney Chenier replies. "She is leaving right away with us."

"This is impossible. You know very well you cannot do that," Mrs. Plutarque says. "It would be cruel-"

"You can't detain her here either. My husband and I know our rights," Mrs. Chenier cuts in coolly. "She's taking up an extra bed which can be used for another patient who really needs it more than she does. I'm sure that the hospital wouldn't like this situation."

"We're also sure that you and your spouse haven't forgotten your restraining order," Courfeyrac chimes in. "You want to have her discharged to stop paying her hospital bills, very well then. All the same she can't go home with you though, since that would violate the court order being enforced for her safety."

Attorney Chenier rolls his eyes and swears while Mrs. Chenier pauses and gives her daughter a brief look of concern. "This is ridiculous. We're her _parents_," she finally says.

"She will go to a foster home or halfway house until the custody case is decided on," Mrs. Plutarque says as she crosses her arms. "She cannot stay with you two."

Cosette tears her gaze away from this argument and looks to where Elodie has buried herself under the blankets. This child needs a haven, desperately, and she will not find it in the middle of this firestorm. So she clears her throat and steps forward. "Mrs. Plutarque, she can stay with me. You might remember that I applied to be her guardian," she says gently.

Mrs. Plutaruqe stares at her for a moment before her eyes widen with comprehension. "Ah yes you did. This is on very short notice though, as you can see."

Cosette nods. "I've been preparing for a while." The truth is that she and her parents are so used to taking in people almost at the drop of a hat, and so it never really takes much work to shelter a guest. '_She is more than a guest this time, and she will definitely take a lot more care,' _she reminds herself. "That is of course, if it's permissible?"

"I personally approve of the idea," Courfeyrac says, giving Cosette and Marius an encouraging smile.

Marius grins at this show of confidence. "I'm with you on this one, Cosette," he says in his girlfriend's ear. He nods to the social worker. "What do you think, Mrs. Plutarque?"

The social worker sighs deeply. "Since no one else is around, you will have to do." She looks steadily at the couple. "It's a good thing you're both in the health profession.

Cosette looks to Eponine, who is biting her lip while listening keenly to all of this. She knows that her friend has been aware of the possibility of this scene, perhaps anticipating it, but knowing does not make this matter any easier. '_I'm sorry Ponine,' _she wants to say, but now is not the time for such an awkward apology. "Is it fine with you too?"

"You and Marius will do great," Eponine says, smiling quickly before anyone else can catch the slight hurt in her eyes. "I'll write up the home care instructions for Elodie."

Attorney Chenier gives Eponine a dark look as she excuses herself, and then he fixes his steely glare on the rest of the group. "If the brat gets too much for you, don't call us to take her back," he warns. He throws a castigating look at his wife when he sees her hesitate and move as if to hold out her arms to Elodie, and this is enough to get the woman to follow him out the door without a single parting word.

Suddenly the air in the hospital room seems so much easier to breathe. "I guess this means welcome to the family, Elodie," Grantaire quips after a few moments.

Everyone laughs but Cosette still catches the very shaken and sober look on Elodie's face. '_Please accept me,' _she begs silently. _'I may not be Eponine, but I'll try my best.'_

Suddenly she feels Marius' hand brush against her wrist. "Shouldn't we call your parents?" he asks when she turns to him. 

"Ah yes. They need to finish fixing things up at home," Cosette says as she brings out her phone. She can sense that they'll be celebrating tonight, and she hopes that by the time that rolls around, this anxiety can fade a little bit, or just enough to help Elodie hold herself together in the storm.

_II_

The moment Eponine feels her eyes begin to grow hot, she wipes her face before her tears can leave blots all over the discharge papers she is signing at the nurses' station. '_I thought we got over this years ago!' _she can't help thinking. There had been a time when she could still afford to get attached somewhat to patients, when 'separation anxiety' was still perfectly understandable. Now she knows why there have to be rules about maintaining a professional distance; aside from ethical issues, there is the fact that there would be nothing of her left she allows herself to get so intensely involved in her patients' dealings.

She sighs with dismay as she picks up her pen to continue writing the prescriptions and instructions for her patient's home care. Of course she isn't completely immune to Elodie's flights of fancy; the little girl makes it so easy to pretend when she laughs, begs Eponine to tell her stories, and basically brightens up during each afternoon visit. '_It's just instinct,' _she tells herself; after all isn't it understandable for a woman of her age to feel protective towards a vulnerable child? Yet there is still a pull she cannot quite put into words, something that reaches deep down into the very fibre of her memories. '_She's not you, not your younger self. Stop projecting these things,' _she repeats to herself over and over.

At that moment she hears her phone ringing, but when she brings it out she finds an unfamiliar number on the screen. Unlike most people though, her situation requires for her to at least investigate these calls. "Hello. Who are you looking for?" she greets.

"For you, Eponine," a familiar voice greets smoothly. "Montparnasse speaking by the way."

"I thought you lost my number years ago. What's new?" she replies. It's always good to hear from a fellow survivor, especially when his voice brings back memories of afternoons in abandoned lots, picking up cigarette butts to warm cold fingers, and lessons on climbing fences and darting along rooftops to escape the neighbourhood watch.

"You tell me. And I didn't get this number from my old files; you're listed on the doctors' directory. What's this I hear that Zel is now also known as Mrs. Maurice Courfeyrac?"

"It's true. Don't let it get out though."

Montparnasse laughs sardonically. "Tell that to the courthouse paparazzi." The sound of crumpling foil comes from his end of the line. "Your folks are asking about you."

Eponine shuts her eyes as she tries to imagine Montparnasse looking a bit more drawn and far less boyish as he drops by the penitentiary. He's one of the few people she personally knows who still contacts _her_ parents without risking any legal ramifications. "What do they want now?"

"What else do they want with two lawyers?"

"It's not happening. Their sentences are final, no chance of parole. Tell them to give it up."

"I'm not telling them anything, I'm only giving you a heads up," Montparnasse says. "You might even want to consider changing addresses."

"I'm not letting them bully me, Zelma, and Gav," Eponine retorts. All the same she figures she may as well change the locks on her apartment, just for her peace of mind. "Must you contact them?"

"Who else is going to make sure they get fed, or that they aren't bumming favors from the wardens?" Montparnasse says. "They're flaunting your brother-in-law's name to scare the other inmates."

Hearing this is enough to make Eponine cringe. "I guess I should warn Courfeyrac then."

"Well if there's anyone who needs warning, it's your man. Talk has it he's rubbing elbows with a certain former inspector?"Montparnasse asks pointedly.

"He's not rubbing elbows with Javert; he's only getting him as a witness."

"What a smart bastard."

"Takes one to know one, so that makes us three of a kind," Eponine laughs. She wouldn't have survived her adolescence if Montparnasse had not taught her a thing or two about being ruthless on the streets. '_The thing is he doesn't grant that knowledge to just anyone,' _she remembers a little bitterly; while this helped save her from many a scrape, it still left her siblings out in the open.

Montparnasse also chuckles at the other end of the line. "Anyway the boss is coming back, I'd better go. Watch your back, Thenardier," he says before abruptly hanging up.

"Damn you Montparnasse," Eponine hisses as she tries to dial his number again, only to be told by the operator that the number is out of range. '_He knows more but he's still got his skin to save,' _she realizes. She doesn't even want to know what sort of business her former boyfriend is still mixed up with to this very day.

As she erases the call from her cellphone's log, she suddenly imagines the landline in her phone ringing and someone else-her siblings, or Enjolras, or Courfeyrac, or even Elodie picking it up only to drop it with fright. '_You can't drag them into this,' _she chides herself. The phone call has only driven home the reasons she cannot indulge that fantasy life that Elodie loves to console herself with. How can she care for such a fragile child when there are so many shadows lurking in the corners, when she does not have enough hours in the day to manage everything, and when even the state of her lease is so uncertain? '_You really can't hang on to anything, can you, Eponine?' _she can almost hear her own voice saying even as she tries to fight it back with the memories of the past few months, all the way up to last night at Enjolras' apartment.

There has to be a way that she has to stop thinking of herself as being on probation in her own life.

Before she can send a message to her siblings to explain Montparnasse's phone call, she sees Cosette exiting Elodie's room. "Do you have a minute?" her blonde friend asks awkwardly.

"Yeah. I was going to explain some stuff to you about caring for Elodie. You know, the home care stuff," Eponine says, hoping that she still sounds calm.

"That's one thing," Cosette says with a slight smile. She takes a deep breath and wrings her hands. "I know that Elodie wishes it was you and Enjolras taking her in. I'll do my best, but she's always going to have a special place for you two."

"Cosette, please don't," Eponine mutters. This somehow feels even worse than the time not too long ago when she learned that Marius was head over heels for Cosette. She had only been attracted to Marius, and in fact the succeeding days proved how fleeting that feeling had been. It's a very different story though when it comes to being protective towards Elodie.

Cosette looks down. "I'm sorry about this."

"Why should you be?" Eponine slams down her pen against the station counter. "You and Marius will be able to give Elodie a good home, someplace that's safe, wherein she'll never have to worry about people leaving or not being there for her. Your parents are there. It's a big house, near good schools..." she trails off when she sees Cosette's stricken expression. '_It's everything I can never give her,' _she almost says but she wills herself to control her tongue for once.

"If you want, I can just take her in temporarily," Cosette offers. "Long enough for you and Enjolras to get things together so you can be her guardian."

"No. She'll love you, and my taking her in would uproot her again," Eponine says flatly. "I have to do what is best for her."

"She'll do better with people she already considers family," Cosette points out.

That last word falls like fire on Eponine's ears, and she has to shut her eyes. She remembers all the sidestepping she had to do at school when anyone asked about her 'home situation', all the nights crying to Montparnasse after tiffs with her father, and most vividly of all, the time when she became certain that any attempt at a 'real' family life would mean excluding her parents from the picture. '_I don't even know what that is,' _she muses. She wonders if Enjolras and Elodie are also just as clueless as she is, but the thought only makes her uneasy. "You know better than I do," she finally says. "Me as a mother? I don't even know how to do it."

"Eponine, no one does," Cosette reminds her. "Not even my mother knew everything."

It is all that Eponine can do not to laugh ruefully as she suddenly remembers tearful scenes in the Fauchelevent household whenever she and Cosette were back in town for home visits. "She did get a lot right," she replies. "I mean, just look at you."

Cosette shrugs. "She's not the only woman I look up to, you know."

_III_

Combeferre never knows what to say to the Dupond family, even if they have become a familiar presence already at the Saint-Michel Hospital. '_Will it ever be more than the fact that he is stable?' _he wonders silently as he checks his patient's vital signs and looks him over for any bedsores. "How is he taking his physical therapy, Ma'am?" he asks the wan woman sitting next to the hospital bed.

Mrs. Dupond sniffles and wipes her face. Her despair is almost palpable even before her words leave her lips. "He shoos away his therapist sometimes. Like he doesn't want to do things anymore. I've tried talking to him, but what can I do?"

Combeferre looks to the silent man lying with the blankets drawn up to his chest. "Chretien? How are you feeling today?" he asks calmly.

Dupond gazes briefly at Combeferre before he resumes staring into space again. "Fine. Nothing is changing," he says in a soft, slurred voice. "I want to go home."

"You will some time. You're making progress," Combeferre assures him.

"Won't be. Won't be doing." Dupond raises both his hands for a few moments. "No go."

"One thing at a time, Chretien, honey," Mrs. Dupond pleads. "You'll be biking again, fixing the roof-"

"No, no!" Dupond snarls, weakly clenching his fists and yanking so hard that he nearly rips out the IV line taped to his left hand. "Can't!"

Combeferre takes a few deep breaths as he listens to Mrs. Dupond's entreaties growing more and more frantic with her husband's monosyllabic retorts. He knows that behind Dupond's broken speech is the pleading of a man who misses being the protector, and who cannot accept that his spouse and his children have spent the past weeks feeding him through a tube and changing his diapers. '_This isn't disability, it's robbery,' _he realizes, and once again he inwardly curses those men who assaulted Dupond that night on Avenue 54.

He clears his throat as he lays a hand on Dupond's shoulder. "It's difficult, yes, but you've come so far," he says. He looks to Mrs Dupond, who is now dabbing at her eyes. "She's just trying to help you."

Dupond's lips quiver as he glances from his wife and then to the physician. "Tired."

Mrs. Dupond's face crumples as she gets up and excuses herself to the small hallway outside the neurology ward. Combeferre sees Dupond close his eyes and wave him away, which becomes the physician's cue to simply finish checking over the IV lines and other monitors attached to his patient before leaving to continue his rounds.

He finds Mrs. Dupond pacing the hall as she dabs at her eyes. "How do you do it, Doctor?" she asks brokenly when she sees him. "How can you see people like this every day?"

Combeferre looks down as Mrs. Dupond's question suddenly brings back a vivid memory, that of the afternoon when Enjolras was shot and rushed to the emergency room of this very hospital. '_At least then I could trust Eponine to save him,' _he thinks, which is more than he is willing to say for himself where taking care of Dupond is concerned. He looks steadily at the wan woman in front of him. "I just do the best I can," he finally says.

"Don't you get used to it?" she asks between sniffles.

"No. Not really." He knows that the day he is no longer bothered by the sight of suffering will herald the end of his vocation as a physician. The horror is a motivator in itself, but certainly not as strong as either duty or compassion. "It's always a little different each time around."

Mrs. Dupond nods as she wipes away the last of her tears. "You're a good boy. Most other doctors would turn us out by now."

Combeferre bristles slightly. "I can name a compassionate colleague or two, dozens more."

Mrs. Dupond shakes her head with wry disbelief before looking back towards the room she has just vacated. "I miss him. He was so kind...you know I used to call him my prince..." She blushes at her sudden sentiment. "You're a nice young man to listen to all of this everyday. Your girlfriend is a very lucky woman."

Combeferre shakes his head, knowing all too well who the matron is referring to. He's not sure how she found out, but then again it is not as if he has been deliberately hiding the fact that he's made a particular friend in the past month. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Yet. I've seen you two talking at the bookshop," Mrs. Dupond teases. "Her name is Flora-"

"Florence," Combeferre corrects her.

"Ask her out already!"

"Someday, soon."

Mrs. Dupond smiles a little more hopefully as she goes back to the hospital room. "I'll try to talk to Chretein again. Maybe you're right. Maybe it will work."

"If you need help, do not hesitate to ask," Combeferre offers. He figures that he will have to seek assistance from a properly trained counsellor either in the psychiatry department or from among the agencies that Eponine works with. Sometimes looking to solutions is the only balm he can afford for himself and his patients when the wounds in question are of the more intangible sort.

His mood lifts a little by the time he returns to the surgery staff room, which is abuzz as usual with lunchtime chatter. As soon as he opens the door though, everyone in the room falls silent. "Did someone die?" he asks.

"No, we just don't want to be rude to the new chief resident," Eponine calls from where she is reading through some articles.

"What new chief resident-" Combeferre begins before everyone breaks into applause. The truth hits home when he sees Mabeuf also applauding enthusiastically. It cannot be a joke if even the boss is in on it. "Just now?"he asks.

"The committee made its final decision yesterday, but I was thinking of how to break it to you," Mabeuf replies cheerily. "Congratulations, Combeferre. You'll do this department proud."

"Thank you. I hope not to disappoint," Combeferre says politely as he shakes Mabeuf's hand. Of course the back of his mind is already pondering on all the things he will have to work on thanks to his new position; there will be courtesy calls to schedule, documents to accomplish, and endorsements to make, but none of that diminishes that wonderful sense of accomplishment that suffuses his being. Not even the eye rolls and silent grumbling of some of his former competitors does much to bog down his mood.

He looks to Eponine, who is already engrossed in writing a paper for her class later that day. "Looks complicated," he remarks on seeing the statistics she is studying.

"It takes getting used to," she says as she continues typing. She smiles over her laptop screen. "You were such a shoo-in. Everyone was going to protest if the committee didn't make you the chief resident."

Combeferre manages a smile as he sits down, feeling that old sense of competition beginning to dissipate. It only seems fitting that now they should taking on these separate challenges instead of trying to edge out each other. '_It makes changing the world a little easier,' _he decides. He notices that Eponine is sighing deeply, and it dawns on him what she is probably thinking of. "Just because you sent Elodie to a better home, that doesn't mean you won't see her again," he says tentatively.

"It's not that," Eponine says wryly. "Cosette pretty much wants me to come over every day just to help get Elodie settled in." She looks around as if to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. "Auguste's parents are in town. They turned up at his place last night."

Combeferre feels as if something has hit him in the stomach as he imagines what must have transpired; there is no way that such a meeting would have gone well, especially if Eponine happened to be caught in the crossfire. "What did they say to him?"

"A lot of things. That he's being a disappointment, that no one will be there for him if things go wrong..." she trails off. "They've done it to him all his life, haven't they?"

"It was worse when we were kids," Combeferre says. There's no point mincing words when describing his best friend's situation; anyway he knows that Eponine can see past euphemisms and whitewashing. "Every bad test, missed goal on the football field, or even just speaking out of turn, they'd always call him worthless. A mistake. Not fit to be their son. You get the picture."

She nods slowly. "They never hit him?"

"They never dared." He pauses to see Eponine's reaction, and to his relief she seems anything but fazed by this turn of events. "How is he holding up?"

"Stoically," she quips as she smoothes out a crease in her white coat. "If it wasn't for the obvious resemblances, I'd think that Auguste was adopted."

Combeferre laughs, knowing what she means. "Nothing of his idealism and spirit."

Eponine nods again. "I guess it's true what they say that family are the people one chooses."

"Perhaps," Combeferre concurs. In a way it makes sense that things should fall together this way, what with all of his friends finding each other and working with one another. '_It's the art of fixing the broken things,' _he realizes even as he hears Mabeuf calling him for their first meeting with the consultants of the department waiting in the next room.

_IV_

The call comes when he is in the middle of meeting with a client seeking assistance on a debacle involving the local police. "Excuse me, I have to take this call," Enjolras says as he quits his seat and goes to the far corner of his tiny office. "Good afternoon Mr. Bamatabois," he greets this court official.

"Thank you for picking up right away, Attorney Enjolras," the official greets smoothly. "The venue has already been finalized for the Transnonain trial. It will be in the Sixth District, in Port Town."

"Beginning the ninth of next month?" Enjolras clarifies. He knows the place being mentioned; in fact he lived there for a time during his internship as a law student. '_All the way across the country,' _he notes, remembering the four days it took for him to drive to his temporary home.

"Yes, that very day," Bamatabois replies. "Javert has already been informed. The witness protection program has already made his arrangements. You only need to worry about your own plane ticket."

"I see. Thank you Mr. Bamatabois," Enjolras says. As he ends the call, he feels that same eager anticipation he always has when there is a breakthrough in a case; now that the trial has been scheduled, there is less of a chance for the defendants to make any legal manoeuvres against Dupond, Javert, and the families of the murdered tenants at Transnonain. '_They have delayed justice long enough,' _he thinks as he goes back to his meeting.

As soon as his client is gone, he sets about to booking his flight. All the while his phone beeps with message after message; for a moment he worries that they will be from his parents badgering him about the case, but to his relief he finds more welcome names in his inbox. '_Combeferre is now a chief resident, Elodie is home from the hospital with Cosette, and there's a ramen night to celebrate. This can get interesting,' _he muses.

At that moment a yawn sounds from the next cubicle. "Ramen night at the Fauchelevents!" Courfeyrac says cheerily as he pushes back his chair and saunters over to Enjolras' workstation. He puts his hands akimbo as he catches sight of the computer screen still showing the airplane ticket reservation. "That's where the trial is going to be?"

"Yes. It's safer for the judge and the defendants since they won't have to deal with agitation within this metropolis," Enjolras explains. "Two weeks away."

Courfeyrac whistles. "Should I book a ticket too?"

"No need to," Enjolras replies. "Azelma needs you here more."

Courfeyrac's shoulders slump with visible relief. "So who will be accompanying you?"

"I'll go alone," Enjolras replies. Technically he won't be travelling with Javert, even if they will be headed to the same place.

Courfeyrac whistles. "Just like old days, when you worked there?"

"I won't be incommunicado this time," Enjolras assures him.

"I don't think that Eponine would let you disappear for that long anyway," Courfeyrac teases. He sticks his thumbs in his belt loops. "I saw your parents driving by the mall. Have they contacted you yet?"

"They dropped by last night," Enjolras replies.

Courfeyrac cringes. "Damn. Was Eponine over there too?"

Enjolras nods, all the while remembering Eponine's quiet but firm resolve during the debacle, and everything she said and did in the aftermath, all the way to her staying the night till they woke up in each other's arms at the crack of dawn. '_No one else you know can be so strong,' _it occurs to him. "She wasn't scared," he remarks.

"That's our girl," Courfeyrac agrees. "If you're going to be away for two weeks, you might need to warn her in case there are any reprisals."

"That goes for you, Azelma, Combeferre, and so many others too," Enjolras points out. Now that he thinks about it, their entire group of friends is entangled in this case one way or another. He is not sure if he ought to deplore this as a downturn in professionalism or as an affirmation that he is no longer living so apart from his friends.

It only becomes clearer to him later that evening at the Fauchelevents' house. Even if the place is so big that their motley band can move about comfortably all over the ground floor without ever bumping into each other, they all still end up crammed in the living room, rolling shakers of condiments across the tables to each other and passing around huge bowls of soup. "This is what we do every week, Elodie," Musichetta jokes with the little girl who is joining them for a little while before her bedtime. "We're not boring grown-ups."

Elodie giggles, nearly spilling soup all over the pillows propping her up. "What about spaghetti night?"

"There, you heard the kid!" Bahorel hollers. He whistles to where Eponine, Azelma, and Gavroche are returning from the lanai, where they have been holding some serious discussion for the past half hour. "No long faces allowed tonight, you three!"

"Says the one extending his face with a goatee!" Gavroche retorts, miming stroking a tuft of facial hair.

As Bahorel makes a cheerful verbal rejoinder, Enjolras catches Eponine's eye long enough to see her gesture to the lanai. He picks up his bowl of ramen as well as hers, and then follows her to the next room. "How did that family meeting go?" he asks as soon as they close the door behind them and sit on the floor cushions strewn all over the tiles.

"You make it sound too serious," Eponine quips as she takes her bowl of soup and balances it on her lap while he merely sets his aside. "Though it is something pretty bad."

"Work related?" Enjolras asks.

"That's the one thing that's going right, sort of," Eponine replies. She takes a deep breath and bites her lip. "My parents are sort of trying to make contact. Not directly, sending out feelers if you will. I don't have a good feeling about this."

Enjolras squeezes her wrist. "They're in prison. They won't come and harm you."

"They still know how to make things difficult. They've tried it before, they can do it again," she explains. She sighs as she adjusts their hands so that her fingers are wrapped around his. "I can't hide my past from you, Auguste. It's too obvious and messy."

"We'll handle this," he tells her. He knows better than to say that they'll be safe and that everything will be okay. In fact he does not know what to expect at all from a possible confrontation with the older Thenardiers. '_Eponine doesn't need a rescuer though,' _he realizes. He knows that he will have to step up to do something more difficult, but certainly more worthy of the strong persons that he hopes they are shaping up to be. "What I mean to say is that you can count on me," he adds when he feels her squeeze his hand once more.

"Thank you," she whispers. She pauses to eat some more of her soup before meeting his gaze more eagerly. "So now that Elodie is living here, that makes the entire custody thing moot?"

"Pretty much, even if her parents have yet to be officially sentenced," he replies. He takes both her hands, knowing that he cannot put off announcing his own news any longer. "Almost as soon as that happens though, I have to fly out for the Transnonain trial."

Her eyes go wide as her lips form an 'o' of surprise. "That's going to take two weeks, you said?"

"Two, maybe three at the very worst." He pauses, wondering if she will be upset. "It's not very long."

"I know, but I am also aware of how you and I can sometimes go stir-crazy," she jokes. "I'll be fine. I'll even make sure that Courfeyrac doesn't break your office in your absence."

"He's not that bad," Enjolras scoffs. He can live with his friend's brand of disorder to some degree. "Though I need to make sure that mail and newspapers don't pile up outside my door."

"You know, more of your clients should switch to digital."

"Easier said than done."

She rolls her eyes. "Just give me your spare key."

"Will do," he says over the knocking on the lanai door. "What's going on there?" he calls.

"We're just opening up a bottle of wine, among other things," Prouvaire replies. "Want any?"

"Time to rejoin the rest of the world," Eponine says ruefully as they get to their feet. "At least we have some days to talk about this."

'_Thank whatever powers are out there for that,' _Enjolras thinks as they return to the living room. An assortment of mismatched glasses, filled with either wine, cider, or soda, is already lined up on the table. "Are we really being this formal?" he asks.

"How often do we get to celebrate _anything_, and two things at that?" Courfeyrac asks as he picks up a glass of wine. "You do the honors."

Enjolras rolls his eyes, knowing that he's never been much of a toastmaster. Nevertheless he picks a glass of cider and holds it up despite the catcalls and laughter of some of the more raucous of the company. He looks to all of his friends gathered in the room, a sight which he would have deemed impossible just a few months ago. "To everyone here and to their dreams. May they come to fruition sooner rather than later."


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: And new adventures begin here! Some parts are a little racy but nothing too graphic. _

_Guest: Thanks much!_

**Hearth and Home**

_I_

Sometimes Courfeyrac and Azelma don't make it to their bed. '_There are worse things though than waking up surrounded by test papers,' _ he notes as he opens his eyes and stretches on the floor of their apartment, taking care not to jostle the stack of quiz booklets that he and Azelma have been correcting all night. It would be an evening well spent in his reckoning if there weren't four more piles of this sort still needing checking, but Courfeyrac eventually decides that this is just his inner impatient student talking and perhaps he's better letting it be.

He turns to where Azelma is still fast asleep next to him, lying on her back with one hand resting on the slight curve of her midsection. For a moment he worries she will stir and get to her feet so she can race to the bathroom to deal with her morning sickness, but she remains slumbering heedless of his attention. He inches over so that he is kneeling in front of her before his hands find the hem of the long shirt that covers most of her skinny frame. It's one of his shirts, a ratty old varsity number from college days, and he's not sure why his wife has turned it into something of a security blanket. Yet it looks better on her than on him, and he's not about to complain.

She whimpers and stirs as his fingers brush against the insides of her thighs. "Dammit Maurice."

"Good morning to you, Zel," he says cheerily, tempting her further with a kiss between her breasts. "How's my baby-mama this morning?"

She scowls and pushes herself up on her elbows. "I hate that term."

"What do you want me to call you then?"

"Something like darling, mistress, maybe the best thing that's happened to you?"

"Minx!" Courfeyrac laughs before kissing her, even as he already feels her nimble hands making their way to squeeze his rear end. He takes the opportunity to make love to her right there and then, revelling in the closeness of their bodies and the raspy sound of her voice in his ear as he brings her to the point of ecstasy. It will not be long till these passionate moments will become more difficult for them to catch, and this is why he holds her close even though they can both hear their respective cell phone alarm clocks breaking the morning quiet.

Azelma groans as she nuzzles his collarbone. "I should call in sick today. Get Ponine to write me a medical certificate for my absence."

"She could?" Courfeyrac asks.

"But won't," Azelma amends ruefully. "Enjolras is too much of a good influence sometimes. Anyway I've got forty kids counting on me to watch them through the day."

"You can take a day off during their exam week. You'll just be proctoring then," he suggests.

She gestures to the piles of test papers around them. "I'll still have to come back to this anyway." She sits up and he sighs at the sudden lack of warmth, at least till she starts touching his thighs again. "What time are you off today?"

"Four. It's the sentencing of the Chenier trial today."

"Damn."

"You're telling me," he says. While he can't say that this is his messiest or most difficult case, it has become a tiresome struggle that hits too close to home on most days. He traces a long scar that runs down Azelma's ribs, wondering how she could survive so much. "After this, all that we need to do is make sure that Cosette gets permanent custody of Elodie."

"With Marius as a father..." she trails off, and somehow this has Courfeyrac cracking up. "You know that it's going to happen!"

"Nothing, it's just that I sometimes imagine Marius as this little baby bird hopping out of the nest..." Courfeyrac begins before Azelma bursts out laughing. "He's good but he's got this bewildered way of going about things!"

"An introvert," she remarks. "You might find he knows more than he lets on."

"I'm sure. I'm sure," Courfeyrac concurs. As he sits up, he catches sight of Azelma touching her belly again. It occurs to him that he has no idea how to manage if their child turns out to have a quiet temperament, since he's so far been readying for a little one with either his devilry of the mind or one with Azelma's sense of mischief. "Still can't feel anything there?" he asks.

She shakes her head a little melancholically. "Musichetta says it's normal for first time moms not to notice till they are almost halfway through."

"Oh." It is all he can do to hide his disappointment at this reminder that it will be a while yet till he can meet this little one who's already turned their lives upside down. '_Slowly there tiger,' _he tells himself as he stands up and helps Azelma to her feet.

Yet what can't wait though is getting a new place to live, as evidenced by how many times he and Azelma literally bump elbows as they go about getting ready for work. The apartment is even smaller now that he's bought a bed big enough to accommodate both of them, and suddenly he can't imagine what else they can possible squeeze into this space. '_Can't let a kid grow up in this mess,' _he decides, and that's when he realizes that he can never again laugh at any of his older colleagues for worrying about their own children, for fretting about house payments and mortgages, or even the simple question of 'am I doing this right?' It's a thought that sits at the back of his mind throughout his busy morning, even when he finally goes for his lunch break.

Today his one-and-a-half-hour off has him driving to the Fauchelevents' place. To his amusement he sees Marius' car parked at the curb. '_Amorous Marius, now that's an idea,' _he thinks wickedly as he rings the doorbell.

To his mortification, it's Fantine who meets him at the door. "Wipe that grin off your face, Courfeyrac," she chides him lightly. "If you don't mind waiting a little bit, you can join us all for lunch."

"Don't mind if I do," Courfeyrac says jovially as Fantine lets him in. He finds Marius, Cosette, and Elodie in the lanai, engrossed in a sort of drawing game. "I didn't know you make house calls, Marius," he greets his friend.

"No, I'm only going home for lunch," Marius replies. "Please join us. I need a teammate since the girls are creaming me."

"I'll let you win!" Elodie chirps. Her hair has finally grown out enough for her to wear it tied up in colourful little elastic bands, and she's finally gotten rid of some of the elastic bandages on her knees and elbows. The only drawback now is that her scars, both from her injuries and surgery, stand out starkly against her pale skin. Courfeyrac can't help but wonder how she'll hold up if, when she decides to return to school, but all of that is lost when Elodie begins to loudly and breathlessly explain the picture guessing game in progress.

"How do you keep up with such energy?" Courfeyrac asks Marius and Cosette.

"I learned in college," Marius deadpans as he begins to doodle. "Shouldn't you be at the courthouse?"

"Not just yet," Courfeyrac replies, aware all this time of Elodie's eyes watching carefully. "I don't have to be there till one-thirty."

Cosette, as if sensing his discomfort, smiles and clears her throat. "How is Zelma doing? Is she still planning to do online tutorials next year?"

"Yeah, when the little one comes along. More flexible time, according to her," Courfeyrac replies. Yet even so he wonders how long Azelma can stay out of a classroom setting, especially given how particularly close this is to her heart.

Cosette nods as she helps Elodie retrieve a pencil. "Are you going to find out the baby's sex in advance?"

"Yeah. Azelma said that she's had enough of surprises," Courfeyrac laughs.

"So do you want a boy or a girl?" Elodie chimes in.

Courfeyrac has to pause for a moment. "Either. As long as he or she is healthy and alright." The truth is that he is not sure what he wants more: a son who he can teach everything to, or a daughter he can spoil to the high heavens. He can see Elodie raring to press him for an answer but suddenly the girl breaks out into a laugh and manages to scramble to her feet in order to launch herself into Eponine's arms as the latter walks into the lanai.

"How are you doing, baby?" Eponine asks cheerily as she scoops up the little girl. "Drawing again?"

Elodie nods gleefully. "I'm winning!" Her grin grows perplexed when she sees that Eponine is wearing a sleek green dress and blazer in lieu of her usual scrub suit. "Your dress is so pretty."

"Why thank you. I had to wear it for a presentation today."

"Has Mister Enjolras seen you wear it yet?"

Eponine shakes her head. "He's real busy today. So am I; I just passed by after class and I have the night shift later."

"I heard he's going away?" Elodie asks worriedly.

"It's only for two weeks, and it's for a case," Courfeyrac assures her. "He'll be back before you know it." It's also for Eponine's benefit too; it's the longest that she and Enjolras will be spending apart ever since they've gotten together, and Courfeyrac can only imagine what she may be thinking in anticipation of his absence.

"Will he be allowed to contact anyone during the trial?" Marius asks.

"I don't know. Even if he could, he can't comment on the case. That's how high profile it is," Eponine points out. "We met up yesterday. He seems to have everything covered."

"When would he be otherwise?" Courfeyrac quips. He hopes he can say the same for himself with regard to the Chenier case but he knows better than to voice this out. Instead he smiles and goes along with the picture game, up until he has to leave to return to work.

He notices as he leaves the Fauchelevent house that the street is more crowded with parked cars; in fact there is a polished blue station wagon nearly double parking Marius' car. '_Curioser and curioser,' _he thinks, knowing that this is an unusual vehicle for the neighbourhood. He looks about for the culprit in order to tell him or her to move the vehicle before Marius has to leave as well, but since no one is in sight he settles for sending a message to his friend to warn him of this impending bugaboo before making his way back to the courthouse.

_II_

As far as Eponine is concerned, the biggest disadvantage to taking daytime classes is that she often gets reassigned to the night shift at Saint Michel Hospital. '_Of course with privileges such as being senior house officer,' _she gripes silently as she finishes printing the evening shift's muster list, complete with each person's post of the night. There is no way she can please everyone for sooner or later someone is going to gripe about having nothing to do in the wards or conversely, having too much to do in the emergency room. '_Hang it all,' _she decides as she glances up at the clock, which reads just five minutes to four in the afternoon. She tacks the muster list to a bulletin board, and then pulls her white coat over her clothes before heading to the nurse's station to get charts for her rounds.

She hears her phone beep with messages, and she looks to see two new missives from Enjolras and Courfeyrac. Enjolras' message is simple: '_Verdict: guilty, hopefully no appeal', _while Courfeyrac has sent a more exuberant, '_We did it!' _Eponine can feel tears springing to her eyes as she breathes a sigh of relief. There is now something more tangible to help Elodie through the nightmares and reassure her that she will be safe from the two people who have endangered her life. '_Will she miss them though?" _Eponine cannot help but wonder. She of all people should know how difficult it is to completely cast off blood ties.

As she's walking through the adult surgery ward, she notices one of her patients, a frail little widow, sitting up in bed and balancing a container of food on her lap. "Doc, let's eat!" the old woman calls to her cheerily.

"I've eaten already, Mrs. Gutierrez," Eponine says politely. Nevertheless she does have second thoughts about refusing when she sees the creamy, caramel covered custard that her patient is enjoying. "Looks like _crème brulee_," she remarks.

"_Ay_, no!" the spinster says, sounding affronted. "This is much better-_leche flan_, made the way that it's supposed to be at home."

"How?"

"With duck eggs and carabao milk, not with the usual chicken eggs and condensed milk. You won't find anything richer."

Eponine cracks a smile at this lavish idea, which sounds like heaven in a dessert dish, as well as a way to send someone to the emergency room. '_I'd better make sure her insulin is adjusted later,' _she decides quietly. "So your son gave it to you?"

"I wish! Thank heavens for neighbours," Mrs. Gutierrrez huffs. She wipes her mouth before speaking again. "So I heard you're handling some social work now too for the hospital?"

"Interventions," Eponine replies. "It's not really welfare and funding, more of helping out patients in crisis situations."

"You mean working with the police and detectives?"

"Sometimes."

The widow whistles. "You're very brave to do that."

"Maybe," Eponine says with a shrug. '_Sometimes I'm just the person who does what no one else will,' _she tells herself. It's sometimes more reactive than proactive, but if it makes a difference to people she's not about to complain.

In the meantime Mrs. Gutierrez takes another bite of her custard. "Do your parents know what you're up to at work?"

"They don't have to know," the younger woman says. The very idea is enough to make her shudder, at least till she imagines the stunned look that would surely spread across her mother's face if she ever got wind of her activities. She has to hold back a snort, more so when Mrs. Gutierrez gives her a puzzled look. "We're a little out of touch nowadays."

"You should try to reconnect."

"Someday."

The old woman sighs deeply. "Don't wait too long. You might regret it."

'_Not if extending the olive branch would do more harm than good,' _Eponine thinks. She's not about to let on regarding this, so she simply smiles and begins writing in her patient's chart. It's easier to leave things off this way.

She returns to the surgery staff room in time to find Combeferre, Reynault, and the other surgeons assigned to the day shift already packing up. "Want us to get something for your dinner?" Combeferre asks her.

"I already have rations," Eponine replies, gesturing to the refrigerator. She's taken to bagging up her leftovers nowadays; what little extra money saved goes a fair way in helping pay the share of the rent that should have been Azelma's.

Reynault elbows Combeferre and winks. "Careful! You know what the bosses say about relationships within this department!"

"Shut up, Reynault," Combeferre mutters.

"Please. A man and a woman, especially with the rather hot history you two have, can't just be friends," Reynault sneers.

"You just ripped that from the movies," Eponine says with unmitigated disgust as she steps away before Reynault's eyes can wander lower. "And in case you didn't get the memo, I'm _with_ his best friend."

Reynault bursts out laughing. "How can you stand that?" he asks Combeferre.

"Go home, Reynault. You're not getting paid for overtime," Combeferre retorts acidly. Thankfully it's enough for their colleague to get the point, and so he departs but not without casting a last sneer over his shoulder. Combeferre shakes his head before looking at Eponine. "Just ignore him."

'_Easy for you to say,' _Eponine almost says. Combeferre is not the one being doubted at every turn thanks to his past or his affiliations. "He does have a point though. It looks weird."

"We're all adults here," Combeferre points out. "Mostly."

Eponine cracks a smile. "So you don't find it weird?"

"To be honest, I couldn't be happier for you both. You take care of each other," Combeferre says as he picks up his bag. "Well except with this-that's my department. Feel free to tell me when you want Reynault to get a demerit."

"Not over this!"

"Unprofessional behaviour counts."

"I never knew you to be so vindictive! Go get some sleep!" Eponine laughs before shooing Combeferre out the door. It's a side of him not many people know, thankfully, and she does fear for Reynault the day he discovers it.

The evening goes by quickly, with only a handful of emergencies and referrals to keep Eponine busy until past midnight. It's about two in the morning when she finally can return to the staff room for some much needed shut-eye. As she pushes two chairs together to make a sort of bed, she hears her phone ringing. "Hey. I thought you'd be flying out by now," she says by way of greeting.

"Boarding is in a few minutes," Enjolras replies. "How is everything?"

"Pretty good, considering this is the night shift," Eponine says. She can hear the hubbub of the airport in the background, and it makes it easy for her to imagine him seated at a cafe, perhaps with a cup of coffee and a stack of papers before him. "So I take you'll be heading straight to work, literally?"

"I have maybe two or three hours between landing and having to be at the courthouse there."

"Sounds fair. Do you get any phone or internet privileges there?"

"Phone, yes. Not sure about internet, but I'll let you guys know."

Eponine sighs deeply, trying to imagine how Enjolras will hold up without being able to communicate so freely. '_That, or he might get so absorbed in his work that he might forget anyway,' _she thinks for a moment, but she decides not to dwell on it. "I'll just say it right out. I'm really going to miss you. I know it's just for two weeks but I can't help it. I wish I'd been with you just now instead of doing night duty," she admits.

"Well we do what we have to do," Enjolras concurs ruefully.

"Don't we always?" Eponine quips. She shuts her eyes as she hears in the background the drone of the public address system announcing a boarding call. "That's your flight, I guess?"

"Yes. I'll contact you when I land," he assures her."That's maybe in about four hours."

She manages a smile. "Go get them. I know you will."

"Thanks. You take care, Eponine," Enjolras says.

"I love you, Auguste," Eponine manages to say before the connection goes choppy and they both have to hang up. As she sets her phone down and curls up on her makeshift bed, she lets out a contented sigh, knowing that she doesn't have to hear him say it back.


End file.
